


School's Out

by Tea_For_One_Please



Category: Andi Mack (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Arguing, Bonding, Canon LGBTQ Character, Chapter 4 is dark, Cyrus has some unresolved stuff, Cyrus is an elementary school teacher, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Andi Mack/Amber, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gay Cyrus Goodman, Gay T.J. Kippen, Humor, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insecure Cyrus Goodman, Jonah Beck is a bi disaster, Jonah's doing his best, Lesbian Amber (Andi Mack), M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Pansexual Andi Mack, Pining, Platonic jyrus gives me life, Slow Burn, TJ is the school guidance counsellor, They're like 24-25, go figure, keep an eye on him, so here you go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2019-10-11 19:02:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17452619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tea_For_One_Please/pseuds/Tea_For_One_Please
Summary: Cyrus Goodman is quite content with his life. He loves his job as a second-grade teacher, he has great friends - but everything starts to change when a new guidance counsellor by the name of TJ Kippen starts working at his school.





	1. Just Another Manic Monday

Cyrus jumped in alarm as a rogue soccer ball hit the classroom window. His coffee mug tipped violently over the desk, and he hastily seized his laptop to protect it from the caffeinated flash flood. With his other hand he reached for the mug, but it slipped through his fingers and smashed on the linoleum floor. He sighed as he surveyed the mess. It could hardly be described as his day.

It was the first day back at school after Christmas vacation. Of course, Cyrus didn’t personally celebrate Christmas, and Hanukkah had ended before the vacation had even started, but he had nonetheless appreciated the time off. Today, though, things were really not going his way. His alarm had failed to go off. A heavy frost had set in and his car had spent ten minutes refusing to start, and in his desperation to fix it, he had forgotten his lunch. An icy patch of road had nearly sent him spiralling into a tree, and Michaela, the college student who volunteered in the classroom, had called in sick. Now he couldn’t even enjoy his lunchtime coffee.

Three small faces, two boys and a girl, were peering nervously in through the classroom window. He beckoned them in, and they trooped in, looking rather sheepish.

“What happened?” he said, resting his computer on a student desk and folding his arms. They all started talking at once. Cyrus held up a hand. “One at a time?”

“Sorry, Mr Goodman,” said the taller boy, taking a step forward. “I kicked it too hard.”

“Would you like us to help you clean up?” said the girl.

“Thank you, Lucy, that’s kind. Could you go and fetch some paper towels from the bathroom, please?” She nodded and hurried off. “Darren, I need a dustpan and brush. And Isaac… could you go to the teachers’ lounge and ask whoever’s there to bring me another cup of coffee?”

“Um, okay,” he said. “Can I have the hall pass?” Cyrus spun around, looking for the pass.

“Ah, here it is.” He passed it over, and Isaac wandered away.

“Mr Goodman, I got the dustpan, but I can’t find the brush,” chirped Darren.

“Well, that’ll have to do.” He crouched down and picked the fragments up and dropped them into the dustpan, then gently handed it over to the tiny wiry-haired 7-year-old in front of him. “There. Now, very carefully, you can tip that into the trash.” Darren took his cargo in both hands, and obediently disposed of the broken pieces. He was putting the dustpan away again when Lucy dashed back in, carrying a large stack of paper towels. Cyrus shook his head in amusement. “Lucy, we’re mopping up coffee, not the Gulf of Mexico.”

“Huh?” She wrinkled her nose at him in confusion. As far as she was concerned, she had brought the exact right amount for such a colossal spill. He chuckled.

“I’m kidding, thank you for the towels.” He sent Lucy and Darren to play outside again and started clearing up the mess. The desk was almost dry when Isaac returned.

“Mr Goodman?”

“Oh, hi, Isaac. Any joy?”

“Not exactly,” said the boy apologetically. “The only person there was the new guidance counsellor.”

“There’s a new guidance counsellor?” Cyrus said, mildly surprised. No one told him anything.

“Yeah, Mr… Kippen, I think?” Isaac wrinkled his nose trying to remember. “Anyway, he said he hasn’t figured out how to work the coffee machine yet. He said sorry.”

“Never mind, thanks for trying,” Cyrus said, smiling at him. “Put the hall pass back on the shelf and you can go and play again.”

“Thanks!”

“And mind the windows!” Cyrus called after him. The door slammed shut and Cyrus slumped back into his desk chair. He refreshed his email, and, sure enough, there was one from Principal Moore, informing the staff about their new colleague. He skimmed the message. Isaac had been right – TJ Kippen, the new guidance counsellor. He made a mental note to go and introduce himself at the end of the day. For now, though, he had math tests to mark. Cyrus hated giving tests. He hated the way the class fell into a gloomy silence for an hour. He hated the way the students’ heads fell whenever he announced it. Mostly he hated having to report that a child was failing when they couldn’t learn by rote as well as others. He had wanted to teach basically forever, but he didn’t want his students to resent him.

 

He was just finishing when the bell rang indicating the end of lunch. He ignored the rumble in his stomach as his students swarmed back into the classroom, many of their faces flushed with cold and all bundled in coats, hats, scarves and gloves. Once they were all seated, he took attendance and told them what they were doing that afternoon.

“So, our topic this term is Ancient Egypt.” He paused to allow an interested murmur to circle the room. He was about to continue when there was a knock on the door. “Come in!” Principal Moore entered with a man Cyrus didn’t recognise.

Cyrus did not generally consider himself to be a romantic. Emotionally driven? Yes. Sensitive? Definitely. Dramatic? Undoubtedly. But an easily-smitten dreamer who believed in love at first sight? Absolutely not. Not any more, anyway. That said, standing in front of him was arguably the most attractive man Cyrus had ever seen. The stranger stood about three inches taller than him, with blond hair which, though mostly unstyled, gave him an extra inch. His eyes were _so_ green, Cyrus noticed, and a slight mischievous smile and a faint sprinkling of freckles accentuated his handsome features. His navy suit framed his lean figure nicely, and his smile widened when he saw Cyrus. Cyrus hoped he wasn’t blushing.

“I’m sorry to intrude on your lesson, Mr Goodman,” said Principal Moore. She gestured to the stranger beside her. “This is Mr Kippen, our new guidance counsellor.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Cyrus. “Say hello, kids.”

“Hello, Mr Kippen,” they chorused, and the visitor grinned.

“It’s great to meet you guys,” he said cheerfully. “My office is down the hall, next to the nurse’s office. If you ever feel sad, or need help, or just want someone to talk to, you can come see me.”

“May we observe your lesson for a few minutes, Mr Goodman?” the principal asked.

“Of course,” Cyrus smiled, turning back to his class. “Does anyone know anything already about the Egyptians?” He suspected two particular students would, and sure enough, they raised their hands. “Yes, Nina?”

“They put dead people in pyramids,” she said confidently. Cyrus nodded.

“You’re absolutely right. Actually, there’s a picture of the Egyptian pyramids somewhere in this room… Can anyone see it?”

They looked frantically around the room until a girl in the back row called out, “There!” The class turned to see where she was pointing.

“Good spot, Melissa,” Cyrus nodded. “That’s what they look like, but in a couple of weeks we’ll learn all about them, and you’ll get to build your own pyramids.” Eyes widened in anticipation. “Anyone else know anything? Noah?”

“They had lots of different gods,” said the brown-haired boy in the front row eagerly.

“Well done,” smiled Cyrus. “In fact, that’s what we’ll be focusing on this week. Today we’ll head over to the computer lab – yes, I know that’s exciting, settle down,” he said, giving a knowing look to the two visitors by the door. “I’ll explain more once we’re there, but you can all choose one god to research and I’d like you to write five facts about them in your books, in your own words. You’ll just need your books and a pencil. So make sure you have those, and then line up behind…” He examined the sea of hands that had just shot up. “Mariah.” Principal Moore and Mr Kippen approached him as the class descended into animated chaos.

“Thank you, Mr Goodman, we’ll leave you in peace now.”

Cyrus chuckled. “Peace? That’ll be the day.”

 

The rest of the day went surprisingly well. The children worked hard, and even the ones who weren’t particularly engaged managed to complete the task Cyrus had set. All the same, after the chaos of the morning, Cyrus was more than a little relieved when the last one had waved him goodbye from the school gates. He collapsed into his desk chair, took off his glasses and rested his head in his hands.

“Tough day?” said a voice from the door. Cyrus hastily put his glasses back on.

“Oh, hi, Mr Kippen, I didn’t see you there.”

“Please, call me TJ,” the counsellor smiled.

“Sure, I’m Cyrus. TJ… is that short for anything?” Cyrus stood up, walked round and leaned against the desk.

“Just TJ,” he said. Cyrus sensed he was treading on sensitive territory and changed the subject.

“So how was your first day?”

“Oh, pretty normal, I guess,” TJ shrugged. “A couple of kids came to see me, but I suspect that was more curiosity than anything else. What about you?”

“Would you believe six things had gone dramatically wrong before I saw you this afternoon?” Cyrus said, a dry chuckle escaping his lips.

“That sounds like quite a day,” TJ said sympathetically. “I hope our visit didn’t fluster you too much.”

“Oh, not at all. I’m used to people coming and going.”

TJ hesitated a moment. “Hey, do you have plans this evening? I wondered if you wanted to grab a bite to eat.”

Cyrus retrieved his eraser from his desk drawer and began to clean the whiteboard. “I’m having dinner with some of my friends, I’m afraid.”

TJ masked his disappointment well. “Oh. That’s cool.”

“I’m sorry,” said Cyrus, and he meant it. “I’d love to, any other night, but I’m sure you understand that trying to arrange a night when four people in their twenties are all free is like a toddler trying to choreograph a Broadway show.”

TJ laughed at that. “I get it. And I’ll be holding you to that ‘any other night’ claim.” Cyrus opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. “Have a good evening, Cyrus,” TJ smiled.

“You too.” With that, TJ turned and left. Cyrus sat back down at his desk, his heartbeat a little faster than usual. _Did he just ask me out?_ He shook his head and started marking his students’ factsheets.

 

It took longer than he’d expected. He finished the last one, glanced at his watch, and gasped. He was almost certainly going to be late. “Typical,” he groaned as he shoved papers into his briefcase and pulled on his jacket. He had hoped to go home and change, but he could hardly worry about that now. He called out a passing farewell to the school secretary as he sped out, and within minutes was hurrying out of the parking lot onto the main road. Thank goodness he hadn’t seen anyone else. In fact, judging the parking spaces, he reckoned almost everyone had left already.

He was surprised to see Buffy standing outside the restaurant; he had fully expected the other three to be inside and seated. “Hey, Buffy!” She turned towards him and her lips tightened.

“Where the hell have you been? I was getting worried!” She gave him a hug and then punched him lightly on the arm.

“I got carried away marking,” he said. “Sorry. Are Andi and Jonah not here yet?”

“No,” she said. “Andi texted me, she’s on her way, but I haven’t heard from Jonah.” She shivered. “Let’s go in, it’s freezing. They might let me have a table for four now it’s not just me.” Cyrus gave her another apologetic grimace as they headed inside. They stood at the welcome table and a young waiter came over, his customer-service smile stretched across his face.

“Can I help?”

“I have a reservation under the name of Goodman,” said Cyrus.

Buffy glared at him. “I stood in the cold for ten minutes when you’d booked a table?” Cyrus grinned nervously and pulled out his card. The waiter glanced down his list and tapped something in the computer.

“Yes, sir. Table for four, is it?”

“Yes, please.”

“There are two more coming,” put in Buffy. Suddenly a blast of cold air filled the lobby and Andi tumbled in.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, a little breathlessly.

“She’s with us,” said Buffy. “Now there’s one more coming.” The waiter gave a single nod and showed them to a table.

“I’ll fetch you some menus,” said the waiter, and wandered off.

“So, how’s the new job?” Cyrus asked. Andi had recently taken a part-time position in an art gallery in the next town over, showing people around and running crafting seminars for visitors and school groups.

“Oh, it’s so much fun,” she beamed. “This afternoon I planned a junk modelling workshop for this weekend, and showed a group of boarding school kids around.”

“You’ve really landed on your feet,” said Buffy enviously. “Can you believe I’m only twenty-four and I’m already counting down the days until I retire?” Cyrus and Andi laughed, and at that moment Jonah virtually crash-landed on the seat next to Cyrus. The waiter, who had just returned with an armful of menus, gave a tiny, disapproving frown.

“Hey, guys,” Jonah said cheerfully. “What’s up?”

“Hi,” said Cyrus, smiling. He couldn’t help it. His mortifying middle-school crush on Jonah might be a thing of the past, but Jonah’s consistently optimistic energy was infectious. “Buffy’s telling us how she hates her job.”

Jonah offered her a sympathetic look as he took a menu. “Is it that bad?”

“Do you know how hard it is to defend someone that you know is guilty?” she said, shaking her head. “Like, I know I’m just observing this case, but it’s so frustrating. Both me and my boss know that this guy should be in the slammer, but we have to use every shard of evidence we have to prove he didn’t do it.”

“Why did your boss take the case?” said Andi. “Surely if she knows he committed the crime…” Buffy shook her head.

“Doesn’t work like that,” she said gloomily. “If we were independent attorneys, it’d be different.”

“But since your company assigns the cases, you have to take what you’re given?” Jonah said. Everyone looked at him in surprise. “What? I know stuff too, y’know.”

“Well… yes, basically. It sucks,” said Buffy.

“Anyway, shall we order?” said Cyrus hastily, waving the waiter over before Buffy could start up again.

“Oh, Cyrus!” Andi hissed in exaggerated exasperation. “I haven’t chosen!”

“Well, then hurry up,” he muttered back, smirking. “I’ll have the beef calzone, please, and a Sprite.”

The waiter nodded. “And I’ll have the seafood ravioli,” said Buffy after a moment’s thought. “With a glass of today’s white wine.” He inspected her driver’s licence and nodded.

“Pasta carbonara and a Sprite, please,” said Jonah. Andi’s eyes widened in panic.

“Can we get a jug of iced water for the table?” said Cyrus to give her more time. The waiter jotted it down.

“Uh… the vegetarian lasagne,” said Andi hesitantly. “And… an orange juice?”

The waiter nodded. “Anything else?” The four of them shook their heads. The waiter took their menus back and marched off again. Andi rested her head on her placemat and groaned.

“That was a fiasco,” she muttered. Jonah grinned.

“How’s the school, Cy-Guy?” he asked. Andi looked back up again.

“You would not believe the day I’ve had,” he said, shaking his head. He recounted the day’s mishaps. “That said,” he said when he was done, “I met the new guidance counsellor, and he’s very nice.” Andi rested her head on her fist and wiggled her eyebrows at him.

“‘Very nice’, is he?” she said, her eyes twinkling. Buffy and Jonah were looking equally interested.

“Oh, shut up,” he said, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like that. We just talked, and he asked if I had dinner plans.”

“He asked you on a date on the first meeting?” said Buffy in surprise. “Gosh.” The waiter returned with their drinks and started passing them out.

“He did not ask me on a date,” Cyrus blustered, sipping his Sprite to avoid making eye contact.

“What’s his name?” Jonah asked.

“His name is TJ. Can we not talk about this? You know I’m not looking for a boyfriend.”

“Fine,” said Buffy, raising her hands. “We won’t push you.” Cyrus glared at her, but he was saved by Andi’s phone ringing. She pulled out her phone and shot them an apologetic look.

“It’s Amber. Sorry, guys.” She pressed the green button. “Hi, sweetie, everything okay?” She paused. “No, it’s okay, I have a minute.” Another pause. “Oh, I moved it. It’s in the cabinet over the toilet.” Buffy and Cyrus exchanged a look. “Enjoy. Love you too. See you later.”

“Dare we ask?” said Buffy, her eyebrows practically in her hair. Andi blushed and elbowed her.

“Shut up! She wanted bubble bath.”

“Well, anyway,” said Jonah, blinking several times. “I have news.”

“Wait,” said Cyrus quickly, holding up a hand. “What do we think, girls? I’m calling new romantic interest.”

“I’ll take hitting someone with his car,” said Buffy.

“Well, I guess that leaves me with a trip to the ER,” Andi shrugged.

“You guys are so rude,” Jonah huffed. He took out his phone and pulled up Instagram. “Anyway, this is Lucas.”

“I win,” said Cyrus. Andi and Buffy gave him a tiny round of applause, then Buffy spoke.

“Lucas, huh? What happened to Charlotte?”

Jonah bit his lip. “That didn’t work out.”

“You really are the biggest disaster I have ever met,” said Andi, sipping her orange juice.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Jonah said with a firm nod.

“Shall I say it differently?” said Andi, smiling.

“Claws away, please,” said Buffy delicately. Ninety-five percent of the time, Andi and Jonah got along just fine, but occasionally they would row, and once went for several weeks without speaking. It took some refereeing from time to time. On this occasion, though, they seemed to just be poking fun, which was fortunate.

Presently the waiter arrived with their meals, and chatter died down a little as they tucked into their food. Jonah told them more about this new potential boyfriend – it turned out to be quite a dramatic story. Lucas was a single dad a couple of years older than them, whom Jonah had met some months ago when he had come to pick up his daughter from the swimming pool at the gym where Jonah worked. They had chatted since, and developed a friendship. Jonah had broken up with his (then) girlfriend, and had started to develop feelings for Lucas. They had now been on two dates, and were planning the third. By the time he had concluded his story, the other three had independently concluded that they would not make it any further than a fourth date before one of them ended it. Jonah never had quite grown out of his commitment issues. Andi asked Buffy about Marty, and Buffy smiled, embarrassed. They had reconnected a few months prior after about ten years, and had hit it off, and the other three were thrilled to hear that the two were now official. They spent nearly another hour at the restaurant, catching up with each other’s news and putting the world to rights. When Cyrus started to yawn, they got the check and left what they owed – plus a tip – on the table. Outside the restaurant, they hugged each other goodbye and promised not to leave it so long before meeting up again.

Cyrus wandered off towards where he’d parked his car, and after the evening’s noisy chatting, the empty street seemed very quiet. He shoved his hands in his pockets and shivered. He was pleased that the others were okay. So what if they were all dating? _Good for them,_ he thought, smiling. He was glad to be alone. He preferred it, a lot of the time, particularly after a long day at school. He had his students, his colleagues, his various parents, and his friends. What else did he need, anyway?


	2. It's Not A Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyrus gets to know TJ better - but finds it difficult to talk to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the three stories of funny things children say are all real stories from my time working in schools. Enjoy!

“Morning, Sharon,” Cyrus said vaguely as he passed the office. Sharon Martin, the elderly school secretary smiled fondly at him.

“Good morning, Cyrus. How are you?”

“Wondering how I ever used to balance studying, a part-time job and a social life,” he said, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. She fixed him with a stern look.

“Rough night, was it? It’s a bit early in the week to have a hangover, Cyrus.”

“Oh, gosh, no, not like that,” Cyrus said, shaking his head. “I’m just tired.”

“Well, don’t over-exert yourself,” she said, sorting through a pile of letters.

Cyrus snorted. “Yeah, okay.” He wished Sharon a good morning and headed to his classroom. He had not expected to find it already occupied. “Hello,” he said in surprise. There, sat in the corner of the room on one of the beanbag chairs was a small boy staring intensely at a book. He jumped; clearly he thought he wouldn’t be found.

“Oh! Hi, Mr Goodman,” he said, catching Cyrus’ eye nervously.

“Why are you here so early, Milo?”

“My mom has a new job, and she has to bring me here before going to work.” He closed the book. “Is that okay?”

“Does Ms Martin know you’re here?” Cyrus asked, resting his briefcase gently on his desk. Milo shook his head. “Well, it’s okay, but you must tell her when you arrive, okay?”

“Why?” The question momentarily threw Cyrus.

“Well, uh, because if there was a fire drill or something before school started, and no one knew you were here, they wouldn’t know they had to come and look for you. Does that make sense?” The boy nodded.

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright, Milo, you didn’t know,” said Cyrus kindly. “Just go and tell Ms Martin what you just told me, okay?” He smiled up at Cyrus and headed off towards the office. Cyrus started unpacking his briefcase. He was just plugging in his laptop and switching it on when he heard a shy ‘hello’ from Milo on his way out. Cyrus turned to see whom his student had addressed, and saw TJ standing in the doorway, poised to knock. Today’s suit was grey, but he had already shed the jacket. Cyrus thought the shirt-and-vest combination suited him, and pushed down the sleeves of his slightly faded sweater, feeling a tad underdressed.

TJ grinned when Cyrus saw him. “Drat, foiled by a polite second-grader.” Cyrus smiled. “How was your night?”

“Oh, I had fun. It was good to see my friends and catch up. What about you?”

“Eh, could’ve been better. I tried that Chinese food place on the corner by the theatre.”

Cyrus opened his mouth slightly in horror. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, not the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” he mused. “Oh well.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t contracted food poisoning,” said Cyrus, and TJ laughed, stopping short when he realised that Cyrus hadn’t joined in.

“Oh, you’re serious,” said TJ, his eyes widening. Cyrus nodded slowly, and TJ shrugged. “I think I’m alright. I’ll get the hang of it.”

“Here.” Cyrus rummaged through his desk drawers and handed TJ a sheet of paper.

“What’s this?” said TJ, his brow furrowing as he examined it.

“A list of all the good takeout joints that deliver to Shadyside,” said Cyrus. “Consider it an orientation lesson.”

“Why is it in your desk drawer?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’ve been here writing reports until eight o’clock before. A guy’s gotta eat.”

“Good point,” nodded TJ. “Won’t you miss it?”

“Nah, at this point they’re basically all in my contacts list.” TJ was still laughing when Cyrus’ student returned. “All sorted?” Milo nodded. “Good.”

“Hey, Milo,” said TJ, crouching down so he was at eye level. “Fancy helping me out with a job?”

“What’s the job?” was the suspicious response. Cyrus suppressed a slightly proud grin – he had always encouraged them to question things, particularly in the case of people they didn’t know or trust.

“How about I show you?” TJ stood up again and opened the door. Milo looked hesitantly at Cyrus.

“I’ll come too,” he smiled, and Milo looked relieved. Teacher and student were led to TJ’s office, where Milo gasped at the sight that greeted him.

“Paints!” he said excitedly. Cyrus raised an eyebrow at his new colleague.

“I thought we could liven up my office a little,” said TJ, not catching Cyrus’ eye, who wondered if it was deliberate. “Think you can help?”

“He can if he has an art apron,” said Cyrus, dipping in neatly, as Milo looked as though he might combust with ecstasy.

“Oh,” said TJ, his cheeks flushing ever so slightly. “Of course. Go find one, Milo.”

“Walking feet!” Cyrus called, his voice trailing off as he realised the futility of the remark.

“I feel like I’ve put my foot in it,” TJ said guiltily. Cyrus shook his head and smiled.

“Actually, it’s a lovely idea,” he said. “I’ve been worried about him lately.”

“Can I ask why?”

“He was recently discovered to be dyslexic.” Cyrus fiddled with his watchstrap. “He’s… taken it as quite a blow. He’s been trying extra hard with his reading and writing, but he’s a long way behind the other kids, and doesn’t seem to be making much progress.”

“Comparison is a tricky demon,” TJ said gravely.

“You’re not wrong,” sighed Cyrus. “Honestly, I’m thrilled to see him with a creative outlet.” He smiled up at TJ. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. TJ gave a small shrug.

“Just doing my job,” he said as a small blur shot back into the room clutching a plastic apron. TJ helped him put it on. “Care to stay and help, Mr Goodman?”

“Goodness, no,” said Cyrus, taking an instinctive step towards the door. “I would hinder, not help, I guarantee it.” Without breaking eye contact, TJ dipped a paintbrush into one of the palettes and flicked it against the wall. Cyrus stifled a yelp of alarm, while Milo’s mouth dropped open in awe. This guidance counsellor was _cool_. Slightly tentatively, the boy copied, his grin stretching almost to his ears as his splash of yellow paint joined the line of red dots already there. He let out a nervous giggle, reassured by the slight wink from Mr Kippen.

“You sure you’re not up to this?” TJ said innocently. Cyrus glanced at his watch. Oh, what the hell. If he didn’t have ten minutes to help cheer up a struggling student, why was he even a teacher?

 

An hour or so later, Cyrus returned to TJ’s office to make sure Milo was ready to start the day. “Oh, wow.” The room had transformed: the back wall was almost covered with splatters of paint in every shade; along the wall to his right swam dozens of brightly coloured tropical fish, each one with a different pattern. The left-hand wall was, unfortunately, mostly covered by shelves, but the gaps had been filled in with smiley faces displaying different emotions, which TJ had labelled. Cyrus stepped inside to admire the fourth wall, his jaw dropping in amazement. It was the only incomplete painting, but was by far the most impressive. It displayed the outline of a beautiful mountain scene, with a river, a waterfall, fields and trees. “You did all of this in an hour?”

“We had some help,” TJ admitted, his eyes drifting behind Cyrus as a group of half a dozen excited children emerged from the restrooms and dashed past on their way to their classrooms. “I’ll finish off the rest another time.”

“You’re really talented.”

“Well, thank you.” TJ took off his own art smock and hung it on the back of the door.

“No, I’m serious,” said Cyrus. “Do you mind if I take a picture? My friend Andi would love to see this.”

“Is she artistic?” said TJ with interest. Cyrus nodded as he pulled out his phone.

“Always has been. Now she does freelance and works in a gallery a few towns over.”

“There’s an art gallery near here?” he said. “Man, I chose the right job.”

 Cyrus snapped a couple of pictures, trying to get it all in. “She’s started doing some craft workshops for kids,” he went on. “I’d wondered about taking my class to visit. What do you think?”

“That’s a great idea,” TJ nodded. “Count me in as a chaperone if you need one.”

“Duly noted.” Cyrus glanced at the clock and made to leave.

“That said,” TJ went on, “I’d like to go for myself sometime.”

“It’s called the Scarenton,” said Cyrus, pausing at the door. “It’s pretty easy to find.”

“Unless you wanted to come too?” TJ said, sitting down at his desk and opening up his computer. “I could use a guide.”

Cyrus bit his lip. “I could arrange for Andi to show you around,” he said after a moment. “She’d do a far better job than I would.” He tried to laugh it off, but couldn’t help noticing the way TJ’s shoulders drooped an inch. “I should go get my classroom ready. Have a good day,” he said, but TJ’s returning smile did not quite reach his eyes.

“You too, Cyrus. See you at lunch, I guess.” Cyrus closed the door as he left, leaned against it and let out a silent groan.

“Everything alright, Mr Goodman?” Sharon stopped as she walked past him, looking up at him over her half-moon glasses. Cyrus started and rubbed his eyes.

“Fine, thanks. Just still feeling a little tired.” She raised an eyebrow, but returned to her desk and did not pursue the matter, for which Cyrus was immensely grateful.

 

Cyrus went through the morning on autopilot. He knew instinctively that the classes had gone well, but he had only a vague idea of what had actually happened in them. He was simply too preoccupied by his exchange with TJ that morning. Which, frankly, was annoying. Cyrus could not understand why TJ kept wanting to spend time with him. He was hardly a very interesting person. Sure, he knew his friends liked him, but they’d known him since middle school. He had been a bit of a dork back then, but he knew he’d been likable enough. As for anyone else… well, he rubbed along quite well with his colleagues, but it was rare for him to spend time with them after hours, besides the nigh-compulsory staff “Christmas” meal on the last day before winter vacation. As for the friends he’d had in college, well, he hadn’t spoken to them since… _No,_ thought Cyrus, shaking his head. He was not pursuing that line of thought today.

When the bell rang to indicate the start of the lunch hour, Cyrus dismissed the class in a daze. Greater than his bewilderment towards TJ’s invitations to hang out  was his confusion as to why he kept saying no. Here he was, moping about how he didn’t have any friends, when he had now twice refused the company of someone who was friendly, attractive, and who seemed to really like him. He shook his head at his own obstinance as he wandered in the direction of the staffroom.

“Hi, Cyrus.” He was shaken out of his reverie by the greeting of Emma Lawson, the kindergarten teacher who was now halfway through her training year. She was about his age (although he didn’t know exactly), and an inch taller than him, with strawberry-blonde hair and the most expressive grey eyes Cyrus had ever seen. Cyrus liked her best of his colleagues: they were closest in age, they had a similar sense of humour, and played surreptitious games of tic-tac-toe and hangman in boring staff meetings.

“Hey, Emma. How’s your day going?”

She rolled her eyes. “You know I had a police officer come in to tell the children about her job this morning?”

“Oh, I forgot about that,” said Cyrus. “I saw her at recess. I did wonder why she was here. How was it?”

“For the most part, it was great,” she nodded. “She told them a bit about what she did, and told them that it was her job to stop people from doing things they shouldn’t.”

“I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming.”

“Well, after she’d explained that a crime was doing something that’s not allowed, Daisy Shumaker puts up her hand and says, ‘Like kissing boys?’” Cyrus burst out laughing and Emma rubbed her temples in exasperation. “They come out with the wildest stuff sometimes.”

“No kidding,” said Cyrus. “In college I spent a semester in a pre-school. A new two-year-old started, and he couldn’t talk very much yet. A week in, another little boy called Thomas came to me crying because the new kid kept calling him ‘Choo-Choo’, and he didn’t like it.”

“Choo-Choo?” Emma looked puzzled.

“You remember that kids’ programme, _Thomas the Tank Engine_?”

“Oh,” she said, recognition dawning. “Of course. My niece and nephew love it.”

“Right,” nodded Cyrus. “So I’m guessing this new boy made the connection with this boy Thomas, but couldn’t quite figure out how to say his name properly..!”

“That’s sweet,” Emma smiled. “I’m starting to see how so many people make money writing their memoirs, or whatever, about their time teaching. Last week I had a child tell me that they didn’t have any thoughts of their own before they were born.”

“Seriously? That’s profound.”

“I’ve paraphrased very slightly, but yeah, seriously.”

“That’s wild,” said Cyrus. It occurred to him that he was actually thoroughly enjoying this conversation. Maybe he wasn’t such an uninteresting person after all. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take my lunch back to my classroom.”

“Sure thing. Have a good afternoon, Cyrus.”

“Yeah, you too.”

 

He took his lunchbox from the refrigerator and headed off, but he didn’t go straight back to his classroom. Instead, he plucked up courage and took a detour. For the third time that day, he found himself standing outside TJ’s office. He knocked twice.

“Come in!” He took a deep breath and pushed the door open. “Oh, hello.” TJ stood up from his desk and smiled. “What can I do for you?”

“I came to apologise,” Cyrus said, before he could change his mind. “I’m sorry I blew you off earlier. I’d love to show you around the art gallery.” TJ beamed, and _damn it_ , he was cute.

“Awesome! Does it open evenings or would the weekend be better?”

“It is open in the evenings,” said Cyrus, thinking momentarily, “but only until five, so shall we say the weekend?”

“It’s a date,” said TJ, smiling.

“No it’s not,” said Cyrus immediately, before checking himself. “Sorry, that was rude.”

“It’s chill,” said TJ, eyeing him warily. “Poor choice of words on my part.” Cyrus bit his lip and shrugged. “Shall we say about eleven?” said TJ slowly.

“Sure,” said Cyrus. “Um, have a good afternoon.” He turned to leave.

“Cyrus, wait,” said TJ. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Would you like to have a totally platonic dinner in a totally neutral location of your choice tonight?”

“Yes please,” said Cyrus, counting the fish on the wall to avoid eye contact.

“Cool. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather go home first, so shall we meet in the town centre at six-thirty?” Cyrus nodded. “Tight. See you then.” Cyrus nodded again and managed a small smile as he left. _Well,_ he thought, _that was possibly the most uncomfortable conversation I’ve had since I came out to my family_. He sighed. Why was he so very incompetent at having a normal conversation with another human being? On this occasion he’d been lucky, as TJ had made it clear he still appreciated Cyrus’ company. That said, he was seriously questioning TJ’s sanity for still wanting to spend time with him after that trainwreck of an interaction. He sat down at his desk and absentmindedly started on his lunch, thinking about the looming prospect of the not-date. He cringed at his immediate rebuttal of TJ’s ‘date’ remark. At least it couldn’t be worse than that conversation.

 

That evening, Cyrus was stood outside the local bakery, hopping from foot to foot with cold. TJ was late. Not much, but slightly. Or was his watch fast? At this point it was anyone’s guess. Suddenly his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, expecting it to be TJ, then realised he hadn’t given TJ his number. He frowned in surprise as he answered it. “Jonah? Hey, what’s up?”

“Cyrus, thank God!”

“What’s wrong? Has something happened?”

“Oh, I’m okay,” he said hastily. “I think I blew it with Lucas.”

“Can I call you back?” said Cyrus hesitantly. “I have dinner plans.”

“I’ll be quick,” Jonah said. “So basically I met his ex-wife.”

“Firstly, yikes. Secondly, how did you know who she was?”

“She had their daughter with them. She recognised me.”

“Double yikes,” said Cyrus, wincing.

“You can probably guess how it went down after that,” Jonah said with a sigh. “And he called me earlier to say perhaps it’s best if we leave things be.”

“I’m sorry, pal. How are you doing?”

“I’m okay, I guess,” Jonah said. “I think it was soon enough that it hadn’t got serious.” _When is it ever serious?_ Cyrus thought, but kept it to himself.

“You want me to come over later?”

“Could you?” said Jonah, suddenly sounding small and fragile.

“Sure,” Cyrus smiled. “I’ll be there about eight-thirty.”

“See ya, Cy-Guy.”

 

A few minutes later, TJ pulled up and parked his car. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I took a wrong turn and found myself on a farm.” Cyrus gave a soft laugh.

“Easily done.” He tilted his head down the street and started to walk.

“Where are we going?” TJ fell in step alongside him, smiling down at him.

“There’s a small restaurant – well, more like a large coffee shop – called Mickey’s. It doesn’t do big meals, but does soups, salads, toasted sandwiches, that sort of thing.”

“Suits me,” said TJ cheerfully. “How was your afternoon?”

“Chaos,” said Cyrus. “I do P.E. with them on Tuesday and Friday afternoons.”

“Are you sporty?”

Cyrus snorted. “Does the sun go around the earth?”

“So,” said TJ thoughtfully, “five hundred years ago, people thought you were sporty until Copernicus suggested otherwise?”

Cyrus laughed properly at that. “Figure of speech.”

“What did you do with them?”

“Basketball.”

“Really? I love basketball!”

“Well,” said Cyrus, “I say basketball, but I was basically just teaching them how to pass it and… bounce it, and stuff.”

“You mean dribbling?” TJ was clearly trying not to smile.

“Dribbling!” said Cyrus, snapping his fingers. “I knew there was a special word for it. My friend Buffy was crazy about basketball when we were kids, so I used to know all about it.”

“That’s cool,” TJ nodded. “How did they get on?”

“Pretty good, I think. I reckon they’re better than me already.” TJ laughed again, and Cyrus started to relax. Maybe this dinner wouldn’t be so bad.

 

A hour and a half later, Jonah opened the door of his apartment and hugged Cyrus. “Hey, buddy,” said Cyrus fondly. “How are you doing?” Jonah was in pyjama pants and an old hoodie, and Cyrus had to admit he looked cute, in an affectionate, platonic, former-crush way.

“Okay,” he shrugged. “Bummed, I guess. I liked him. I really thought…” He trailed off and looked away.

“I know,” Cyrus said sympathetically, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. Jonah picked up a tub of ice cream which Cyrus observed was almost empty. A spoon was already sticking out of it, and Jonah dug it back in again. “Jonah, please tell me you haven’t eaten all of that tonight.”

“No,” said Jonah, avoiding Cyrus’ eye. Cyrus rolled his eyes and gently prised the tub out of his hands.

“I think that’s enough. You’ll make yourself sick.” As if to prove his point, Jonah rubbed feebly at his stomach under his hoodie. “What do you want to do?” Jonah shrugged in response. “Go pick a movie,” said Cyrus. “I’ll make you some chamomile tea.” Ever-indecisive, Jonah pulled out five for Cyrus to choose from: _Finding Nemo_ , _Mamma Mia!_ , _Spider-Man Homecoming_ , _The Notebook_ and _Raiders of the Lost Ark_. Cyrus thought about each and decided _Mamma Mia!_ was probably a safe bet: uplifting, but without requiring the utmost attention to the story. He put it on and hit play, finding a blanket for Jonah, who had been following him around like a sad puppy. Cyrus had been through this too many times to be unsettled by Jonah’s behaviour, as he always became unusually tactile after a breakup. Likewise, he neither objected  nor commented when Jonah leaned into him and rested his head on his shoulder as Donna and Sam sang _SOS_. Maybe not the best choice for a post-breakup movie night after all. Still, Jonah had wanted it.

“Thanks for being here,” Jonah murmured.

“’S’alright,” said Cyrus, ruffling his friend’s hair.

 

As the credits rolled, Cyrus gently shook Jonah awake. “Come on, buddy, let’s get you to bed.” Jonah obediently let Cyrus lead him to bed. Cyrus put away the movie, washed up Jonah’s tea mug and headed out. He locked the apartment behind him and slid the key under the door for Jonah to find in the morning. _He’ll be fine,_ he thought confidently as he stepped out of the elevator. His mind flickered to TJ for a moment, thinking of the evening and the art gallery trip to come. _And I’ll be fine too._


	3. The Art of Learning to Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a successful first not-date, Cyrus and TJ visit Andi's art gallery.

A loud smashing sound woke Cyrus with a start. Disoriented, he gave a soft groan, before kicking back the covers to see what had disturbed him. Dressed only in a t-shirt and boxer shorts, the cold room shocked his system, and he shivered as he pulled back the curtains. In the early morning twilight, he could see a roof tile, lying shattered on the patio below. Wonderful. No doubt his landlord would have something to say about that. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand: seven-forty-five. Earlier than he liked for a Saturday morning, but still more of a lie-in than he was usually granted. Suddenly it occurred to him – today was _the_ Saturday. He was going to Andi’s gallery with TJ today.

He pulled on a sweater and a pair of socks, then descended the stairs, thinking back on the last time he’d hung out with TJ one-on-one. He’d had little time to process it, actually. He’d gone straight over to Jonah’s, and since then, a staff meeting, marking and a parent-teacher conference had meant he had hardly had time to draw breath. He made his way into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, and poured some oats and milk into a pan.

In retrospect, dinner with TJ  had gone quite well. There had been a few awkward breaks in the conversation, which Cyrus knew had obviously been his fault. Despite this, Cyrus felt he had got to know his new colleague quite well. Having already learned that TJ was into basketball, he found out that he had once reached national level in an amateur under-18s team. He also discovered that TJ had needed help with anger management as a young teenager, part of which had involved a period of art therapy. Seeing how he had gradually changed from being sullen and snappish had inspired him to become a counsellor. They had, Cyrus felt, bonded over this: growing up living with four professional psychotherapists had given him an experience comparable to actually having counselling. He had also found this helpful after Connor. Not that Cyrus had told TJ about Connor, of course. That was definitely not a first not-date revelation.

The most uncomfortable moment, however, had come when TJ had asked Cyrus about himself. Predictably, in that moment, Cyrus could think of nothing interesting to say. TJ, apparently seeing his predicament, had come to his rescue.

“What got you into teaching?”

“Well,” Cyrus had said, stalling a moment longer, “I always liked learning. My favourite movies as a child were documentaries about dinosaurs and the like.”

“That’s cool.”

Cyrus had smiled. “It’s the literal opposite of cool, but thank you all the same. Anyway, when I left school, I didn’t really know what to do. I didn’t want to go to college straight away, but someone suggested volunteering at my old elementary school, just for something to do.”

“Ah,” TJ had nodded wisely. “I think I see where this is going.”

“You’re practically an oracle,” Cyrus had said drily, making his companion laugh. “But yes, while I was there, I discovered I loved working with kids, and applied to college for the following year to become a teacher.”

“How was your college experience?” TJ had asked. “Wild parties and so on?”

“Hardly,” Cyrus had chuckled. “I’ve never been shy as such, but… let’s just say I was never the partying type.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there.”

“Yes.” Cyrus had not elaborated any further, and TJ had apparently known better than to push him. Instead, he had promptly changed the subject, which Cyrus respected and appreciated.

 

Cyrus stood at the stove, stirring his oatmeal, thinking about TJ. He was nice, sure. He was sociable, easy to talk to, and apparently a completely an open book. _Basically_ , Cyrus thought, _everything I’m not._ It would have been very easy for Cyrus to be jealous of TJ, but was relieved to find that he wasn’t. Instead, he found that he simply enjoyed his company, and desperately wished that he could be a little less weird and awkward around him. What baffled him most was the realisation – not for the first time – that TJ seemed to like him too, quirks and all. Of course, Cyrus thought miserably, he doesn’t really know me all that well yet. He really hoped he wouldn’t screw this friendship up.

He was distracted from his gloomy musings by his phone vibrating. He picked it up with his spare hand and read Andi’s message.

**_Andiman:_ ** _you still coming by today?_

He smiled slightly and tapped out a response:

**_Me:_ ** _sure am, we’ll be there 11ish_

He sipped his tea before pouring his oatmeal into a bowl and spooning honey in to sweeten it. He sat down at his little table and gazed out of the window as he ate, relishing the silence after a hectic week. His phone buzzed again, but it wasn’t Andi this time.

**_Basketball guy:_ ** _hey, you want me to drive today?_ _😊_

**_Me:_ ** _no, I’ll pick you up, it’ll be easier than trying to direct you_

**_Basketball guy:_ ** _cool, thanks. I’ll buy your lunch – call it a taxi fare!_

Cyrus sighed. He knew TJ meant well, but more and more, this was starting to feel like… well, like a date. Perhaps he was overanalysing again.

 

He spent a couple of hours typing up a few lesson plans from his notes, read a chapter of a mindfulness book he’d been working through, before going for a shower. He was still feeling a little sleep-deprived, and the hot water helped him to wake up a little. By the time he was dressed (a green and white checked button-down with navy slacks), he was feeling more normal. He had time to dry and brush his hair, before bundling up to brave the winter morning. The strength of the icy wind made him gasp as he stepped outside – it was no wonder a roof tile had fallen. He hurried to the car and immediately started blasting hot air out of the vents. He fixed his phone to the clamp on the dashboard, entered the address TJ had given him into Google Maps, and set off.

He could see TJ standing outside the entrance to the apartment building, and even from thirty feet Cyrus could see his face light up in recognition. He jogged over to the car and climbed in next to Cyrus.

“Ooh, it’s warm in here,” he said happily, cupping his hands over one of the air vents.

“Hello to you too,” said Cyrus, glancing in the mirror as he turned the car around.

“Oh yeah,” TJ grinned. “Hi! So tell me about this gallery.”

“It’s not massive,” said Cyrus. “It only opened a year or so ago, so they’re still expanding. But it’s nice, and has quite a range of exhibits.”

“And your friend is a tour guide?”

“I’ll tell her you said that,” Cyrus chuckled. “I’m kidding, that’s actually one thing she does. But mostly she’s an artist. She also runs workshops occasionally. I think she has one on today, actually.”

“Dope!” TJ practically bounced in his seat. “Can we go, or is it just for kids?”

“They’re aimed at kids and families, but yeah, we can go. I’ve no idea what it is today, though.”

 

When they arrived, the parking lot was quite full. “Goodness,” said Cyrus. “I’ve never seen it this busy before.”

“Clearly your friend’s workshops are proving successful,” TJ said. “What’s her name again?”

“Andi, although I have no doubt she’ll introduce herself.” Cyrus was right. TJ followed him inside and was immediately greeted by a frankly tiny young woman with jet-black hair, accompanied by a slightly taller blonde. Both girls threw their arms around Cyrus, before turning their attention to TJ.

“Hi!” said the shorter girl excitedly. “I’m Andi. You must be TJ?”

“You’d be right,” said TJ politely.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Andi continued. Cyrus noticed TJ glance knowingly at him. For pity’s sake, what a time to start blushing. “Your office mural was incredible, I loved it! This is Amber, by the way.”

“Oh, thanks! Hi,” said TJ, addressing Amber. “Do you work here too?”

“Oh no,” said Amber. “Andi’s the artistic one out of the two of us. I’m just here to admire the art.” She nudged Andi.

“Shut up,” she hissed good-naturedly. “Amber’s my girlfriend,” she said, slightly flushed, by way of explanation. “I have to go set up, my workshop starts in twenty minutes.”

“We can help,” shrugged TJ. “Can’t we, Cyrus?”

“Of… of course,” said Cyrus, who had apparently been miles away.

“Well, thank you,” Andi smiled. “It’s this way.”

“Five dollars each,” said the middle-aged man at the reception desk. Both Cyrus and TJ reached for their wallets, but Andi held up a hand.

“It’s okay, Arthur, they’re with me.”

“Very well, Miss Mack,” the old man mumbled, nodding them in.

“So what are we doing today, Andi?” said Cyrus, falling in step beside her, while Amber chatted with TJ.

“Pottery,” said Andi cheerfully. “Next week is junk modelling, if you’re around.”

“Pottery?” Cyrus said, his heart sinking. Back in a junior high art class, Cyrus had spent two minutes at the potter’s wheel. The school still sent him sporadic emails informing him they’d managed to scrape another lump of clay off the ceiling. “Oh, dear.”

“Relax, it’s quick-drying clay.” said Andi. “You don’t even have to do it. Your guy’s cute, by the way.”

“For the tenth time, he’s not my guy,” said Cyrus, practically through gritted teeth.

“Yes, Cyrus, I know: you don’t do boyfriends,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I was merely making an observation.” She gave his hand a quick squeeze. “He seems nice, too. Maybe it’s time.” She subsided under his gaze, sighed and raised her hands in defeat. “Fine, we won’t have this conversation now.”

“We won’t have this conversation ever,” said Cyrus firmly. “I am perfectly happy as I am.”

“Okay,” said Andi. She obligingly said nothing more about it, but her tone left Cyrus in no doubt that she did not believe him in the slightest.

 

Setting up didn’t take long between the four of them. They put out some folding table and chairs, and distributed the large lumps of clay between the tables. Announcements for Andi’s workshop were called out over the public address system, and people started to filter in. Cyrus, TJ and Amber sat at a table in the corner and chatted while they waited. Presently, Andi clapped her hands together to call the assembled company to order.

“Could I have your attention, please?” Silence fell quite quickly. “Thanks for coming, everyone. My name’s Andi, and welcome to this pottery workshop! If you’ve wandered in by mistake, now is your chance to leave, otherwise you’re stuck here for the long haul.” Several people laughed at this, and she looked pleased. “You’ll pretty much have a free rein, to be honest. The pictures on the walls near your tables are some examples of things you could make, but they’re really just ideas. I only have two things I have to say. First, grown-ups, please help your children cut the clay. Second, this is fast-drying clay, which means it will set without the use of a kiln. However, if you make something you want to eat from, I recommend you bake it in your oven at home for a half hour first. Few things ruin your appetite like your plate falling apart in front of you.” This received even more laughter, and Andi grinned. “Enjoy!”

“You still up for this?” TJ said quietly. Cyrus nodded.

“Sure, how hard can it be?”

 

The answer was ‘rather difficult’. Cyrus decided to keep it simple and make a small bowl. Curving it around his fist, he soon had the rough shape he desired, and then started pinching the edges to give it a more distinct shape, and to make it smooth. He was almost done, and was reasonably happy with it, when a piece of the clay broke off between his fingers.

“Damn,” he said crossly. TJ peered over to inspect the problem.

“It looks like your clay’s dried out,” he said thoughtfully. “Try running the bowl under the faucet for a minute or so.”

“Will that work?”

“I think so,” TJ nodded. “Then it should at least be wet enough to allow you to stick the broken piece back on.” Cyrus heeded his advice, then tried to fix it. The clay was now more pliable, and he was able to press the fragment back into place. He put it down onto the table and regarded his handiwork. Not bad, all in all. It wasn’t massive, but could hold keys or loose change if he wanted. He was about to fetch some paints when he glanced over at TJ and Amber’s creations and his face fell. Well, Amber’s wasn’t overly impressive – she had made a slightly lopsided dish which she claimed was for a candle. TJ, however, had made a mug, which Cyrus thought looked perfect. “What do you think?” He smiled when he saw Cyrus’ astonished look. “I don’t know if it’s watertight, or even if the handle will stay on, but I’ll bake it when I get home and find out.”

“It’s incredible,” said Cyrus, trying not to be envious. “Better than mine, at any rate.”

“Not better,” said TJ earnestly. “Different.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“I’m serious!” he said. “It might look more impressive than yours, but I knew I could do this. You didn’t, but did it anyway.”

“He’s right,” Amber chimed in. “And anyway, yours is still better than mine, Cyrus.” Cyrus cracked a smile.

“True,” he said, giving her a mischievous grin. She put her hand to her chest in mock offence.

“You’re not supposed to agree!” she said haughtily, then smiled at them. “Come on, let’s get some paint.”

 

After they were done, they marked their initials on their constructions and left them with Andi until they were ready to leave.

“Time for lunch, perhaps?” TJ suggested. “I’m starving.”

“I could eat,” said Cyrus. “There’s a Chinese restaurant across the road.” TJ paled, and Cyrus laughed. “It’s a different one.”

“Oh, good,” said TJ, visibly relieved. “Then after lunch you can show me round the rest of the gallery.”

“Sure, that’s a good idea.”

“Andi and Amber are nice,” TJ said once they were seated.

“They’ve been together since high school,” Cyrus said. “They used to be mortal enemies, if you’ll believe it.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh yeah,” said Cyrus, his eyes widening. “It was classic middle-school drama. My friend Jonah was dating Amber, but then he ditched her for Andi, and then they spent the next two years locked in this rivalry because of it.”

“Must have come as quite a curveball when they got together,” TJ said. Cyrus nodded, bemused.

“You have no idea. We thought it was a joke at first. We knew Amber had been getting nicer, and that she and Andi had been spending time together, but we never saw that coming.”

“How did your friend Jonah take it?” TJ asked.

“Oh, quite well,” Cyrus shrugged. “He’s always been fairly chill with that kind of thing.”

“What about you?” TJ asked tentatively.

“What about me?”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“No,” said Cyrus, shaking his head rapidly. “I don’t date.”

“What, like, ever?” TJ leaned back in surprise.

“No, I…” Cyrus paused. “I’m sorry, I can’t talk about it.”

“As in, government-level can’t talk about it?”

“Can you stop, please?” Cyrus said sharply and TJ blinked at the harsh change in tone. “You know what, I’m not hungry.” He tossed his napkin onto the table, grabbed his coat and stormed out.

 

Cyrus was leaning against his car, frowning at his phone, when TJ found him. “I thought you’d left,” said TJ.

“I was going to,” said Cyrus shortly, “but then I remembered I gave you a lift here. Get in.” He opened the driver door.

“Wait,” said TJ, catching Cyrus’ arm. Cyrus glared at him. “I’m sorry.” Cyrus looked sceptical.

“Tell me what you’re sorry for.”

“For being nosy. It’s my job to be nosy, but sometimes I get so used to helping people talk through their problems that I forget not everyone wants to.” There was a momentary silence.

“Keep talking,” said Cyrus, closing the door and folding his arms.

“I really like you, Cyrus,” said TJ. “I’ve known you less than a week and I already consider you one of my closest friends, and easily by best friend in Shadyside. But I realise you hardly know me, and so you have every right not to want to tell me stuff.”

“Hang on,” said Cyrus, but TJ was in full flow.

“I’m aware that I massively overshare sometimes, and I didn’t stop to think that you wouldn’t want to. I was prying, and I’m sorry for it.”

“TJ, wait a moment.” Cyrus touched his arm. “You… you think I’m your friend?”

“Of course,” said TJ. “Don’t you?”

“Of course,” Cyrus echoed. “I just…” _I just didn’t think people thought of me as their friend_ , he thought, but even he knew how sad that sounded, so he didn’t finish his sentence. “It doesn’t matter. Sorry I lashed out.”

“It’s okay. Like I said, I started it.” He held out a hand. “We good?”

“Yeah,” said Cyrus, shaking it. “We’re good.”

“Sweet,” smiled TJ. “Let’s get some food.”

 

After lunch, they wandered around the gallery some more, chatting and pointing out exhibits they liked, and laughing at ones they didn’t. Cyrus tried not to be overly sensitive, and TJ made sure to avoid potentially uncomfortable topics. By the end, Cyrus had to admit that he’d enjoyed himself.

When they’d been all the way around (twice), they picked up their pottery creations, said goodbye to Andi and Amber and headed back to Cyrus’ car. They drove back to TJ’s apartment largely in silence, until TJ felt prompted to ask, “You okay, Cy?”

“Yeah,” said Cyrus quietly. “I’m just trying to build up the nerve to tell you something.”

“You don’t have to,” said TJ hurriedly.

“No, I want to,” was his firm reply. “Well. I don’t really, but I feel like I need to start accepting it, so I can move on. And I think I can trust you.” He paused for a moment. “The truth is I find it very difficult to trust people,” Cyrus continued. “Which is why, when you asked me earlier, I told you I don’t date.”

“Did something happen?” asked TJ gently. “Which affected your trust in people?”

“Yes,” said Cyrus simply. “It did.”


	4. Cyrus' Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyrus, with uncharacteristic confidence, decides to confide in TJ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! This is really quite a dark chapter. There are mentions of terminal illness, suicide, alcohol and emotional abuse. If any of those can be triggers, please don't read this chapter. I've prepared a TL;DR in such an event which I will be happy to provide upon request. Message me on Tumblr (@tea-for-one-please) if you'd like.
> 
> It won't get this dark again, I promise. Thank you to everyone who reads this story, it really means a lot to me. Stay safe :)

“In my sophomore year of college, I had my first boyfriend,” Cyrus began. “Connor and I had shared an apartment in our freshman year, along with three other guys – Jack, Skylar and Zeke. The five of us quickly became friends. We had our differences, of course, but what friend group doesn’t?”

“Connor and I were particularly close. You know there are those people you meet, and within five minutes, you’re sure you’re going to be friends forever? He was like that. I had never clicked so much with anyone since I’d met Andi and Buffy. We had lots of the same interests, a similar sense of humour, and similar taste in music and movies. The others were real party animals, but we weren’t, so we had a lot of time just by ourselves. We’d have movie nights or game nights. We would occasionally hold hands for comfort. Lots of people assumed we were dating a long time before we were.”

“I knew from the start that he was not your average guy. He told me how he was in remission from leukaemia, and he had anxiety. His dad had died ten years ago, and there’s more to that, but you don’t need to hear it. Anyway, I felt I could help him, and swore to myself to be the best friend to him that I could.”

“We started college again after summer vacation, and it felt like something had changed. We addressed it, and figured out that we liked each other. We started dating, on the down-low to begin with, before going public after a few weeks.”

“We were going steady for about a year before I started to notice peculiarities. I know hindsight is 20-20, but I really should have seen it sooner. One night Connor flew into a panic attack. I wasn’t there, I couldn’t help like I normally would have, and he…” Cyrus swallowed deeply. “He tried to kill himself.”

“It didn’t work. The others found him, and took him to hospital. He blamed me. That should have been a red light right there, but I put it down to his anxiety. I told him I was sorry for not being there, and he said he forgave me. I thought that would be the end of it.”

“I spent most of the spring semester back here in Shadyside, on placement at Jefferson Middle School. Things like that kept happening. One night he texted me to tell me he’d been taken into hospital again, because his… illness had come back again.”

“I was all set to come over when, by chance, I saw on Skylar’s Instagram story that the four of them were out at a bar together. I confronted him about it, and everything came pouring out. None of it was true. He’d never had cancer. He still blamed me for his suicide attempt. He accused me of never having loved him, and he told me he certainly never loved me, or even liked me.”

“You’d think one of us would have ended it there, but there you go. For whatever reason, we didn’t break up, and I didn’t really know what to say, but he texted me in the morning like nothing had happened. I decided – hoped – he’d been drunk, or something. But after that it just didn’t stop. We fought almost constantly, more and more lies kept popping up, and I kept getting more and more tired of it.”

“But I had promised I’d be there for him no matter what, so I didn’t stop it. For four months I allowed this to continue, until eventually I gave up. I don’t know what flipped the switch, but I’d had enough. I broke up with him on the last day of our junior year.”

“He ‘revealed’ to the others that it had been me that had driven him to the edge those other times, and of course, they believed him. I never got a chance to tell them my side of the story, nor prove that he was lying.”

“I left the apartment and moved back here for the summer, stayed with my mom and stepdad, and commuted back and forth to college for my final year. I had no college friends, never went to a single party or society. I didn’t even go to pride that year, even though Jonah, Andi and Amber all wanted to go, and Buffy and Marty were going in support. I lived constantly in fear that I’d see Connor again.”

“So yeah,” said Cyrus heavily. “It seems I’m destined to be one of those guys who lives alone for all eternity, with like fifteen cats. And frankly, I’m okay with that. I’d rather be in no relationship at all than be in that kind of relationship again.”

“Cyrus… I’m so sorry,” said TJ thickly. Cyrus observed with some surprise that his eyes were moist. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“I did,” said Cyrus, disturbingly matter-of-factly. “I let it keep going. I saw the warning signs six months before I did anything about it. It’s my fault it got that far.”

“But it’s not your fault that it started,” TJ said firmly. “Listen to me. What he did was despicable. The way he took advantage of you was evil. I know it’s difficult to think you could ever have a future with someone, but you mustn’t rule out the possibility of it just because of him.” Cyrus said nothing. “You’re a good person, Cyrus. You forgave him over and over again. That’s the sign of someone with a real heart.”

“That’s the sign of an idiot,” said Cyrus drily, but TJ didn’t heed the remark.

“Can I give you a hug?” TJ said hesitantly. Cyrus thought a moment, then nodded. It was not the best hug Cyrus had ever had – the confines of a car was hardly the ideal setting – but as TJ pulled him close, Cyrus felt himself breathe out in a way he had not for a long, long time.


	5. Coffee and Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyrus' 'day off' ends up going in rather a different direction than he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has been such a long time in coming! Hope you enjoy :)

The next morning, Cyrus woke up not feeling tired. At first, he couldn't pinpoint exactly why he felt different. As far as he could tell, everything was the same as usual. He had woken late, as he usually did on Sundays, and had scrolled mindlessly through his Instagram Explore feed for twenty minutes before deciding he was hungry. He prepared oatmeal and sliced a banana into it, and made toast afterwards. It was as he went to make himself a cup of coffee that he realised he didn't want it. Didn't need it, even. "Huh," he said, blinking as he familiarised himself with the sensation of not feeling tired. Instead, he poured himself a glass of water and sat at the kitchen table to drink it, puzzling to work out what had changed.

What had happened yesterday? Oh yes, he'd gone to the art gallery with TJ. The thought of TJ flickered something in his mind and he clicked. He had told TJ about Connor. His first emotion was vague alarm - not even Buffy and Andi knew the whole story, and yet he had spilled his deepest and darkest secret to someone he'd known less than a week? Had he learnt nothing? He fumed quietly to himself for a few minutes, before realising that he was already starting to feel tired. One of his eleventh-grade AP psych classes flashed into his mind: it was Pavlov in action.

Pavlov rang a bell every time he fed his dogs. Over time, the dogs became conditioned into expecting food whenever they heard the bell chime, and would start to salivate as a result.

In this instance, however, Cyrus' relationship with Connor had left him in a constant state of emotional exhaustion. Since then, Cyrus had accidentally conditioned himself into experiencing the same tiredness as a result of thinking about Connor and his own residual anger.

Yesterday, however, he had shared the full extent of his burdens, and his grief, and his fears, and his resentment for the first time. In return, he had not received mockery, criticism, or anything to confirm his insecurities about the situation. Instead, his confession had been met with words of comfort and affirmation, reassurance that he was not at fault, and a hug. He couldn't quite express the effect it had had on him. He just felt better.

That wasn't to say, he thought as he drained his glass, that his past didn't still cause him pain. He was still hurting and still absolutely did not want to enter another relationship. He shuddered at the thought. But perhaps this was a demonstration that not all people were horrible, as he had reflected on more than one occasion. Maybe he could trust TJ. "Typical," he muttered drily. "I spent years refusing to see a therapist because I grew up with four of them, only to pour my heart out to one after a minor argument." He left his glass in the sink with his other breakfast things, tapped out a quick text to Buffy and went for a shower.

He turned the water on as hot as he could stand, then nudged it up a fraction more, allowing the steady stream of nearly-scalding water to burn across his skin. He let out a sigh as he tipped his head back under the flow, his hands and scalp tingling with the heat as he massaged the shampoo into his hair. Across the bathroom he heard his phone ping with a new message, but didn't bother to get out to look at it. It'd only be Buffy confirming if she could meet for coffee or not. If she could, great. Otherwise... well, he'd go over to Jonah's. Oh, and he had math tests to mark. Fun times.

He winced as some shampoo ran down his forehead into his left eye, and reflexively started rubbing at it, which did not help the situation. He blinked rapidly a few times until the pain reduced to a dull ache, finished cleaning himself and turned off the water. A near-opaque cloud of steam hung in the air, and he threw open the window to ventilate the room. He wrapped his towel around himself and wandered back to his bedroom. He shivered as a drop of cold water fell from his hair onto his shoulder and towelled his head vigorously, allowing himself a smile as he glanced in the mirror and saw how dishevelled he looked. Like he'd been dragged backwards through a holly bush, as his stepmother would say.

He suddenly remembered the message and, still in his towel, returned to the bathroom to fetch his phone. It was indeed from Buffy.

_**bestie:** on my way over with marty :) be there in 15_

"Shit," muttered Cyrus. He had barely had time to put on his underwear when he heard a knock on the door. "Coming!" he yelled. Another knock was followed by the door opening.

"Cyrus? You forgot to lock your door again."

"I'm just getting dressed," he called down, cursing himself for forgetting to lock the door. Was nothing sacred? He rolled his eyes. "You can make yourself coffee, or whatever."

"I thought we were going out for coffee." Buffy sounded amused.

"Good point." He pulled on a hoodie, zipped it up and hurried down the stairs.

"I haven't seen you in casual wear in weeks," Buffy smiled when she saw him. "You look nice."

"Got to relax sometimes," he shrugged.

"That'll be the day," she remarked, raising her eyebrow. "Marty's in the car. You don't mind me bringing him along, do you?" Cyrus looked at her and knew she actually wanted an answer.

"Not really. He's okay." _And it's not like I'm unused to third-wheeling,_ he thought. Buffy looked relieved.

"Good. I know you don't like him that much."

"How can I not like him?" Cyrus was confused. "I barely know the guy."

"You know what I mean," she said, seeming uncomfortable.

"No, I don't."

"It's just... you didn't seem to warm to him when you met him a few weeks ago."

 _I don't really warm to people,_ Cyrus thought, but instead he said, "I'm sorry. I'll try and make an effort to get to know him more." He meant it, too.

Buffy smiled. "Thank you. As my best friend and my boyfriend, I do want the two of you to get along." She nodded towards his coatstand. "Take a jacket, it's cold."

"Yes, mom," he grumbled. He paused as he knotted his scarf. "Sorry. I know I probably don't say this enough but I am thankful for the way you put up with me."

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "For the millionth time, we don't put up with you, Cyrus. You're our friend, and we love you."

"I mean, I appreciate how you were there for me after everything went down in college, and I know I can be moody, and..." Cyrus shrugged. "I don't know. I love you guys too, I guess." Buffy touched his arm for a moment.

"What's brought this on?"

"Just been thinking about stuff, I suppose." As Cyrus was collecting his keys, she glanced into his kitchen and remarked the unused cafetière on the windowsill.

"You didn't make coffee this morning?"

"Didn't want it," was his simple reply. She smiled fondly at him and followed him out of the door.

They drove into town, as Cyrus' cottage was a mile or so into the countryside. The journey was quiet, as Buffy didn't really like driving and liked to be able to concentrate. Once they'd ordered and taken their seats, Marty smiled at Cyrus and said,

"How was your week?"

"Pretty good," Cyrus said after a moment's thought. "Quite busy. We had a parent-teacher conference on Thursday, which was a nightmare."

"What happened?" Buffy asked, sipping her coffee and frowning, concerned.

"An angry mother and father yelled at me for giving their daughter two out of ten on her spelling test."

"Yikes."

"I tried explaining that it wasn't a discredit to the child, and that I was starting to suspect she might be dyslexic, but that only made them more mad," Cyrus continued. "How dare I suggest that their precious little genius might be - I won't use the word he used." Buffy and Marty looked shocked. "I don't know how I kept my cool, I was ready to hit him." Cyrus shook his head. "I sent them over to talk to the new guidance counsellor, as he also deals with SEN cases."

"Oh yes, the new guidance counsellor," said Buffy. Cyrus ignored the subtext. "What's he like?"

"Nice enough. We hung out yesterday. We went to Andi's exhibition and grabbed lunch."

"How was the exhibition?" Buffy asked.

"You didn't go?"

"I was working," she said with an apologetic shrug. "Things are really coming to a head with this court case. That said, I'm pleased to report that we're losing, and this asshole should be on a decade-long sentence within the month." She grinned at the bemused looks on Cyrus and Marty's faces. "Anyway, tell me about the exhibition."

"Oh, it was cute," said Cyrus. "Andi nailed it. We did pottery - no high school jibes, thanks - and I made a decent-looking bowl."

"And the counsellor?" Marty interjected

"His name is TJ, and he made a very nice cup."

"So he's artistic as well?" Buffy said in surprise. "Goodness." Cyrus pulled out his phone to show her the mural on the wall of TJ's office. Buffy raised her eyebrows and Marty gave a low whistle of appreciation.

"He's good."

"Yeah," said Cyrus. "He is." Suddenly Cyrus' phone buzzed, and he frowned, wondering who it could be. "Excuse me."

_**Basketball guy:** Hey, just wanted to check how you're doing after yesterday :)_

Cyrus glanced up; Buffy and Marty were deep in conversation, so he typed out a quick reply.

_**Me:** I'm alright, thanks for asking. Currently out for coffee with my friends :) What are you up to today?_   
_**Basketball guy:** I found out about a rock-climbing place online, I'm heading over this afternoon. Want to come?_   
_**Me:** Thanks, but no - not really my thing, and I have work to do. Have fun though :)_

He hit 'send' and shoved his phone back into his pocket.

"Anything interesting?" asked Marty, who had finished his coffee and was wiping the froth from the rim with his finger.

"TJ invited me rock-climbing," said Cyrus, sipping his green tea and grimacing. He had left it too long and it had practically stewed.

"The phrase 'know your audience' comes to mind," Buffy smirked. "Seriously though, Cyrus, he wants to hang out two days in a row?"

"Yeah, and?"

"I think she's saying he likes you," said Marty.

"No, he doesn't," was Cyrus' automatic reply. "And even if he does, I can guarantee that I don't like him in that way."

On the way back, Cyrus' phone buzzed again. He felt a twitch of annoyance. Could TJ not go an afternoon without texting him? To his surprise, though, it wasn't TJ.

_**JB:** im bored can i come over_   
_**JB:** we dont have to do anything_   
_**Me:** I'll be marking quizzes, but you're welcome to come if you can entertain yourself_   
_**JB:** thanks :) see you soon_

Cyrus had barely read through the first question on his first paper when the doorbell rang. "It's open!" he called, consulting his answer sheet. When another ring sounded through the house, he raised his eyes to the heavens and walked to the door. Jonah smiled at him. "Hey, Jonah. Come on in." Jonah followed him into the kitchen.

"Thanks for letting me come," he said, kicking off his shoes and leaning against the piano.

"It's alright," Cyrus shrugged, returning to his tests. Truthfully he was glad of the company. "What brings you over?"

Jonah looked confused. "I told you, I was bored."

"Nope."

"What do you mean, 'nope'?"

"Jonah, I've known you for twelve years," Cyrus said, still marking. "Never once in that time have you ever been bored." If Cyrus had looked up, he'd have seen Jonah shift uncomfortably in his seat. "Now, do you want to tell me why you're here, or not? You don't have to."

"I was cold," said Jonah in a small voice. Now Cyrus did look up, a look of utter bewilderment plastered across his face.

"What, your apartment doesn't have heating?" Now Jonah looked really uneasy, and Cyrus shed his bewildered irritation in exchange for concern. "Jonah, what's going on?"

"I got fired," he said quietly.

"Shit." Cyrus put down his pen. "What? When? Why?"

"Tuesday, and 'inappropriate relationship with a customer'."

"The Lucas thing?" Cyrus said, his heart sinking. Jonah nodded sadly. Suddenly Cyrus realised something. "Hang on, I saw you on Tuesday, why didn't you tell me then?"

"I didn't want you to worry." Jonah seemed to be shrinking in on himself.

"So what changed today?" Cyrus was dreading the answer to this question.

"My electricity bill was due on Friday. I... couldn't pay it. I lost power yesterday."

"Hold on," said Cyrus. "You've been without power and heating since yesterday in the middle of January?" Jonah chewed his lip. "Damn it, Jonah! You should have come yesterday!"

"I did," said Jonah. "You weren't home. Buffy wasn't home. Andi wasn't home."

"Then you could have called!" Jonah gave a small shrug, which Cyrus knew meant he didn't want to be a burden.

"While we're on the subject of my chronic failures at adult life," said Jonah, "there's something else." He pulled a letter from his back pocket. It was in a stark white envelope with a scarlet stamp on it, marking it 'urgent'. Cyrus already knew what it said.

"You're being evicted," he said softly. It wasn't a question, but Jonah nodded.

"Rent was also due this week," he said bitterly. "And my landlord's an asswipe, he won't listen to me."

"I can give you some money," said Cyrus hastily. "What do you need?"

"Thanks, Cyrus, but he's already found a new tenant." Jonah sat down at the piano and pressed a few keys mournfully.

"Well, then you must stay here," Cyrus said firmly. "At least for a while. Until you find your feet again." Jonah smiled gratefully at him. "Let's go get your things."

"Right now?" Jonah said in surprise.

"If you think I'm sending you back to stay at that cold, dark apartment, you have another think coming," said Cyrus, giving him a look. "We're going to get some lunch, then clear out that frozen wasteland. Come on."

The two spent the rest of the afternoon loading Jonah's things into their cars and hauling them over to Cyrus' house. Cyrus set Jonah up in the spare bedroom, and by way of thanks, Jonah made dinner for the two of them. To Cyrus' slight surprise, it was really quite good. Jonah eventually agreed to tell Andi and Buffy what had happened, after Cyrus pointed out that they would be furious if they found out by going round to his old apartment and being met by someone who definitely wasn't Jonah. As Cyrus had expected, they were nothing but supportive, and Buffy promised to keep an ear out for vacancies opening up at her law firm.

That night, Cyrus finally finished marking his quizzes while Jonah played Mario Kart. Cyrus observed he was about as skilful as he had been when they were 14.

"Move over," Cyrus sighed, closing his binder, getting up from his armchair and joining Jonah on the couch. "I'll show you how it's done."

"Oh, it's on." Jonah grinned at Cyrus and passed him a controller. Cyrus proceeded to thrash him at every level they played, until Jonah started to yawn. Cyrus took the hint and switched off the console.

"I've given you some clean towels, so you can wash or shower, or whatever." He put the controllers away and tucked his papers and his laptop into his briefcase. "Good night."

"Cyrus?" He paused at the door and turned around. Jonah had stood up.

"Yeah?" Jonah didn't say anything, but closed the distance and pulled him into a tight hug.

"Thank you," he murmured. Cyrus hugged him back, tilting his chin up an inch to rest his head on Jonah's shoulder.

"It's all good," he said, squeezing him gently before letting go. "Oh, I'll be leaving at 7:45 tomorrow, but in case you're not up, I'll leave some post-its where the breakfast things are." Jonah nodded and smiled.

"Night, Cy-Guy."

"Good night, JB."

Cyrus put up his post-its and climbed the stairs. He washed his face, changed and got into bed. For the first time since early evening it occurred to him to check his phone. He was not overly surprised to find he had a message.

_**Basketball guy:** Rock climbing was AWESOME, I have to show you sometime! Hope you've had a good day_   
_**Me:** It's been a bit weird, but okay. I'll tell you about it tomorrow. Just off to bed_   
_**Basketball guy:** Night :)_

Cyrus wished he could figure TJ out. Surely he must have met people today that he'd got on with, and yet he was texting him? He didn't get it. But, he supposed, that was a puzzle for another day.


	6. A Cup of Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He stood up and went to TJ’s office. He knocked on the door and peeked in. TJ was poring over a textbook and…. Oh, for God’s sake. He was wearing reading glasses. How did he have the audacity to become even cuter when Cyrus was trying so hard not to have a crush on him? It just wasn’t fair."

A few weeks passed, and the new arrangement seemed to work. Cyrus and Jonah enjoyed living together, and by the time February rolled around, Jonah had found a new job in the kitchen at the local Dairy Queen. It wasn’t the most stimulating work, but in his ever-boundless optimism, he claimed that it would suffice until he could find something better.

One Monday morning, Cyrus found himself back at his desk again, in the familiar comfort of his classroom. Milo was once again curled up quietly in the corner, reading a new book Cyrus had retrieved from the third-grade classroom to challenge him. A stack of quizzes he had marked the night before were in their binder, propped up against his laptop. Since putting it down he had checked it three times to make sure they were actually there; unsurprisingly, they had been each time.

“Mr Goodman?”

“Mm?” Cyrus hummed, somewhat distracted. He was looking for his pen.

“My sister’s getting married,” the little boy chirped.

“That’s nice,” said Cyrus, not looking up from his task.

“I’m going to be a pageboy.”

“I’m sure you’ll look very smart.”

“Why do people get married?” Milo asked after a beat. Cyrus paused at the question and looked over at Milo. He suddenly felt his pen behind his ear and removed it.

“Because sometimes people who love each other decide they want to spend the rest of their lives together,” he said, twirling his pen in his hand. “Does that make sense?”

“That’s a long time,” Milo said thoughtfully.

“Well, yes, I suppose it is,” Cyrus chuckled. “But the people really love each other when they make that choice.”

“Are you married?” Milo asked, tilting his head.

“No, I’m not.”

“Are you ever going to get married?” the boy pressed on.

“I don’t know,” said Cyrus delicately. “Maybe.” It seemed to Cyrus that Milo didn’t look overly satisfied with this answer, but to Cyrus’ relief, the subject was pursued no further and Milo went back to his book. Cyrus scribbled on some post-its and stuck them onto the whiteboard next to him. He was just checking his email when there was a knock on the door. Cyrus looked up and smiled as he saw TJ standing there. “Good morning,” he said, standing up to greet his visitor.

“Hello,” TJ said. Cyrus noticed he was holding something behind his back. “Hi, Milo.”

“Hi, Mr Kippen,” Milo called without looking up from his book.

“If I remember correctly,” TJ said with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, “you broke your coffee cup a few weeks ago, and it seems you haven’t replaced it yet.” With a dramatic flourish, TJ produced the cup he had made at Andi’s art workshop, kilned and painted to perfection, with ‘CG’ in purple on the side. “Ta-da!” he said proudly, and Cyrus found himself grinning fondly at this gesture.

“Mr Kippen, you really shouldn’t have,” he said, heat rising in his cheeks. “I’m not sure I can accept this.”

“You have to,” said TJ promptly. “Because I don’t know anyone else with your initials.” Cyrus laughed aloud at that.

“Well, thank you.” He turned it over in his hands, admiring it. “I’ll make myself a coffee in it shortly. Did you have a good weekend?”

“Really good, yeah,” TJ said happily. “I went back to that rock-climbing place. I know you said it’s not your thing, but I totally want to take you to see it sometime. I think it’d be fun.”

Cyrus tilted his head down a smidge and looked up at him. “I’d consider it.” TJ’s face lit up even more.

“Have a good morning, Mr Goodman,” he said cheerfully. “Bye, Milo.” With that, he turned and vanished. Cyrus collected himself before turning to look at Milo, who had apparently finished his book and had clearly been observing this exchange.

“Mr Goodman,” he said.

“Yes, Milo?”

“Are you going to marry Mr Kippen?”

Cyrus nearly dropped his new cup. “What did you just say?” he said, forgetting his professionalism in an uncharacteristic loss of composure. Milo shrugged.

“I asked if you’re going to marry Mr Kippen,” he said innocently.

“No,” said Cyrus, “and even if I was, it’s rather impolite to ask teachers personal questions.”

“Sorry,” said Milo, not sounding in the least apologetic.

“It’s alright,” Cyrus said, noticing the insincerity but deciding to overlook it. “If you’ve finished your book, then you can take it back to Mrs Norris.”

“Can I get another one?”

“Yes, if Mrs Norris agrees.” The boy wandered off as Cyrus inspected the cup. It toed the line between sturdy and dainty, and the plum and jade paint was glossy and neat. It really was rather beautiful, and Cyrus found that he was touched by this gesture. He swallowed down the lump in his throat. He couldn’t quite pinpoint what he was feeling.

 

The lesson before recess was math. Cyrus liked math, but disliked teaching it, on account of the fact that he really struggled to make it interesting for his students. He taught them songs, and he used visual aids and little bricks to help with their counting skills, which helped. Other times, though, he found himself constrained by the curriculum’s need to teach them how to find their answers using a written method. Today was one of these occasions: he was trying to teach them to add in a column, and most of them were getting it. One, however, was not. Nina, one of Cyrus’ brightest students, appeared to be on the verge of crying as she scribbled down sum after sum. The boy sitting next to her muttered something to her and sniggered, but the whole class was talking quietly, so Cyrus didn’t catch what he said. What he did see, however, was the way Nina scowled and rested her elbow on the desk to block him from her view. Dawson, the boy, caught his friend’s eye and smirked. Cyrus frowned, not liking what he was seeing. 

Eventually the bell rang for recess. “Nina, could you hold up a second?” Cyrus asked as the hyperactive students started to pour out of the door. She looked nervous. “Relax, you’re not in trouble. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Nina said, unconvincingly.

“It’s okay if you were finding it tricky,” he said gently.

“It was a bit,” she admitted in a small voice.

“Do you want to tell me what Dawson said?” Cyrus asked, getting up from his chair and crouching to her level. She bit her lip and shook her head. “Are you sure?” Suddenly, she covered her face and burst into tears. Cyrus was taken aback, but had a bright idea. “Would you like to go and see Mr Kippen, and tell him what’s going on?” She nodded. “Alright, then. Come on.” 

He stood up and went with her to TJ’s office. He knocked on the door and peeked in. TJ was poring over a textbook and…. Oh, for God’s sake. He was wearing _reading glasses_. How did he have the audacity to become even cuter when Cyrus was trying so hard _not_ to have a crush on him? It just wasn’t fair. “Are you busy?” TJ looked up, smiled and took off the glasses.

“Not at all, how can I help?”

“Nina’s a little upset.” He held the door open and stood aside, allowing Nina to pass under his arm.

“Well, we can’t have that,” said TJ, furrowing his brow and walking round the desk to join her in his comfy chairs. “Thank you, Mr Goodman, I’ll bring her back in a little while.” Cyrus nodded and closed the door. He just about had time to make himself a fresh cup of coffee (in his new cup) and chat briefly with the principal, before the bell rang again. He hurried back to the classroom to greet the students as they came back in, all looking frozen to the core despite their various winter garments. Cyrus made a mental note to keep an eye on Dawson, before settling them down and starting his history lesson.

 

He took roll, but had barely had time to pull up his PowerPoint on hieroglyphics when TJ appeared at his door again. Cyrus noticed that Nina was not with him. “I’m terribly sorry to interrupt you, Mr Goodman, but can I borrow Dawson?” An _oooooh_ rose up from the rest of the class, anticipating drama.

“That’s enough, thank you,” said Cyrus sharply, and the noise died down amid hushed giggles. “Of course. Go, Dawson.”

“You can leave your things,” TJ said, smiling reassuringly at the nervous-looking boy. Cyrus felt that if his suspicions were correct, Dawson had not fully earned TJ’s benevolence, but he respected TJ for not intimidating him all the same. TJ and Dawson left the room, and Cyrus started his lesson properly, explaining how the ancient Egyptians wrote with pictures instead of words. He then handed out cards he had made with the approximate hieroglyphic alphabet on, so that they could write their names with the simple little pictures. They greatly enjoyed this activity, especially when he later told them to fetch art aprons so they could paint their names and hang them on the wall. 

They were nearing the end of the first activity when TJ returned yet again, this time with both of his absent students in tow. He discreetly asked Cyrus if he could speak with him at lunch, and then exited the room once more. Nina, who seemed considerably more cheerful, and Dawson, who seemed considerably more subdued, enthusiastically joined in with the task their classmates were undertaking. Cyrus started to relax; clearly the situation was under control.

 

An hour and a half later, Cyrus had dismissed the class and eaten his lunch, and was stapling their name paintings to the display board next to the big windows, around one he had made which read _Hieroglyphics_ in golden paint. A knock on the door nearly made him fall off the chair he was standing on. He turned to see TJ standing there, an amused smirk on his face. “Sorry,” he said sweetly. “But you’re lucky I’m not Principal Moore – she’d have your hide for that sort of stunt.”

“Oh, this?” Cyrus glanced down at the offending chair. “I do this all the time. What did you want to talk about?”

“Is this a good time?”

“As good as any,” said Cyrus briskly, “as long as you don’t mind if I multitask.”

“Not at all,” said TJ, sitting down in Cyrus’ desk chair and crossing one leg over the other. “So, I expect you’re wondering what happened with Nina and Dawson earlier.” Cyrus wasn’t sure if he was supposed to answer this, but TJ continued before he could say anything. “Simply put, it seems Nina’s parents are putting an undue amount of pressure on her.”

“She told you that?” Cyrus was surprised that this shy little girl had been so forthcoming with this information.

“Not directly; I read between the lines. I believe you gave them a spelling test recently?”

“Yes, first week back after winter break. She did well; she got… eight out of ten, I think? Higher than most of the others, it was difficult.”

“Apparently,” TJ said reluctantly, “her parents wanted to know why she hadn’t achieved full marks.”

“That’s absurd,” said Cyrus crossly, slamming the staple gun into the wall. “Any seven-year-old who can write the word “difficulty” with the correct number of ‘f’s and ‘c’s is a borderline prodigy in my book.”

“I agree, it’s completely unreasonable,” TJ nodded. “But from the way she talked, I don’t think that was the only instance of this attitude.”

“You know what?” said Cyrus, who was starting to feel a little hot under the collar in his anger. “I am _so_ sick of teachers and parents terrorising their kids into academic brilliance.”

“I quite agree,” TJ said from behind him. “But I daresay with that context, you can understand her frustration at struggling with the addition problems this morning.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Cyrus said heavily. “She didn’t want to go home and tell them there was something else she was finding hard. But where does Dawson come into this?”

“He called her stupid,” TJ said flatly.

“Little ass,” Cyrus muttered. “No wonder she was upset.”

“Well, indeed,” sighed TJ. “Especially since I think that’s what her father said.”

“He what?!” Cyrus spun around and jumped off the chair, his face alight with fury.

“Calm down,” TJ said hastily. “I’m not completely sure, she didn’t say that explicitly.”

“But you suspect?”

“Yes,” he said reluctantly. Cyrus leaned up against the display board and sucked in his cheeks, fuming. “I’m going to look into it,” TJ went on, “and I’m considering arranging a meeting with Nina’s parents to discuss it.”

“You’d think they’d have brought it up at the parent-teacher conference,” said Cyrus, half to himself.

“Did they not?” TJ asked, but then Cyrus remembered.

“They didn’t come,” he said, making eye contact for the first time in a while. “That puzzled me: the school sent out the date _months_ beforehand, but they never replied to the email, or sent Nina in with a note to say they couldn’t come.”

“Weird,” said TJ, chewing his lip. “I’ll look into that too.”

Cyrus cracked a smile. “When did you become the school’s private investigator?”

TJ grinned. “Good question. Maybe I’ll find the answer in my secret files,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows, making Cyrus laugh. “Have you eaten? I didn’t see you in the cafeteria.”

“Oh, I often take my lunch in here,” Cyrus shrugged. “The ten minutes of quiet I get to eat my lunch is my oasis in a busy day.”

“Then I shall leave you in peace,” said TJ amiably, getting to his feet.

“That’s not what I meant,” Cyrus said quickly. “You can stay if you’d like.” TJ shook his head.

“No, I should get on anyway. I’ll keep you posted on the Nina situation.”

“Thanks. Hey, TJ?” He turned back.

“Yeah?”

“Are you busy tomorrow night?” Cyrus asked hesitantly.

“Am I ever?” TJ chuckled. “What do you have in mind?”

“What time does the rock-climbing place close?”

TJ’s face spread into a smile. “Like, eight, I think. Want to go?”

Cyrus nodded. “I won’t have a lot to do after school, so I should be done by four, if you’re up for it.”

“Hell, yeah,” TJ grinned. “I knew I’d be able to convince you to do it!” He bounced twice on the balls of his feet in excitement. “Cool, catch you later, yeah? Have a good afternoon, Cyrus.”

“Yeah, you too,” Cyrus smiled. He watched him go, before returning to his hieroglyphics display.

 

The afternoon was largely enjoyable – they spent the first hour in the computer lab, teaching them how to use MS Paint to make a specific type of art (called pointillism, only he explained it as dot painting), encouraging them to create their own scenes using different coloured dots. The second half of the afternoon was spent demonstrating how they could grow watercress seeds in cotton wool. The only disaster was when Damian Harris accidentally squeezed the seed bag so hard that it popped, and several hundred seeds scattered across the carpet. Inside, Cyrus was deeply frustrated by this unfortunate turn of events, but had spare seeds and a dustpan and brush. Consequently, the worst outcome would be cress growing through his carpet.

He stayed behind a little later than usual, so that he could leave early tomorrow, before locking up his desk, packing his things and heading out to his car. He peeked into TJ’s office on his way out, but it was vacant, and TJ’s coat and scarf were gone from the coat-stand. He frowned as he stepped outside – it was starting to snow again. It had not snowed for several weeks, but only because the air was simply too bitterly cold, so the clouds had practically turned solid, locking the snow inside. However, Cyrus could only conclude that it must be warming up, because fresh flakes were starting to fall on the frozen ground. He shivered, and hurried to his car.

As he turned onto his driveway, Cyrus was relieved to see that the lights were on, which meant that Jonah had finished work already. In the few weeks since Jonah had moved in, Cyrus had grown accustomed to having someone to greet him when he arrived home. He hadn’t realised how lonely he had been, and he found that he disliked coming home to an empty house. “Hi!” he called out as he shut the door. He sat down on the bench in the hall to take off his shoes, and Jonah appeared at the kitchen door. To Cyrus’ alarm, his face was framed by smoke.

“Oh, hey.” Jonah smiled nervously. “So, I know how it looks,” he continued, and Cyrus’ heart sank.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing,” said Jonah earnestly. “I made dinner.”

“Did you make it, or cremate it?” Cyrus asked, taking off his jacket and loosening his tie.

“Oh, it’s okay,” Jonah said. “It was only a small fire, and I dealt with it.” Cyrus sighed, and shunted him back into the kitchen. He squinted through the smoke and threw open the windows. A tray of sausages stood on the countertop.

“I have several questions,” said Cyrus, rubbing his temple.

“Shoot.”

“Firstly, how are they not burnt?”

“That’s why I said it was nothing,” said Jonah. “Some of the grease jumped up and caught the gas flame. The food’s fine.”

“Second,” Cyrus continued, “what else did you make?”

“Mashed potatoes and carrots,” said Jonah, his voice getting smaller as he sensed Cyrus’ irritation. “Why?”

“You made sausages,” said Cyrus.

“Yeah?”

“Jonah, I’m Jewish.” The penny dropped.

“Ah, crap. Pork.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Cyrus, wafting the last of the smoke and closing the windows again. “There’s a small cheese and onion quiche in the fridge. I’ll have that.”

“Sorry,” said Jonah glumly.

“Hey,” said Cyrus, resting a hand momentarily on his shoulder. “It’s okay, these things happen.”

“I guess.” Jonah set the table while Cyrus dealt with his quiche and served the vegetables. Jonah speared a couple of the sausages and put them on his own plate, and then they were ready to eat. “How was your day?” Jonah asked.

“Pretty good,” Cyrus nodded, chewing slowly. “We wrote in hieroglyphics and planted cress seeds in cotton wool. Only one crying student.”

“Gosh, that’s got to be a record.”

“I think I’ll be out for dinner tomorrow night,” Cyrus went on.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I’m going rock-climbing with TJ.” Jonah’s eyebrows shot into his bangs. “And he gave me the cup he made at Andi’s workshop.”

“He must like you,” said Jonah, poking at his food with his fork to avoid Cyrus’ eye. Cyrus didn’t answer straight away. “Cyrus? Everything okay?”

“You know what?” said Cyrus. Jonah noticed his voice sounded fearful. “I think I like him too.”


	7. Falling for Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Cyrus realises that he's started to feel things for TJ, the two of them go to the rock-climbing place together.

Cyrus looked doubtfully up at the wall in front of him, peppered with colourful ledges of different sizes and shapes. For something to do with his hands, he adjusted his helmet, tugging at the strap to make it a little tighter. He didn’t want it to come off when he inevitably fell. He shuddered at the thought, and started when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“You ready?” TJ asked, his voice a little higher than usual in excitement.

“No,” Cyrus said truthfully. TJ let out a soft laugh.

“Cyrus, I promise, it’s perfectly safe,” he said gently, and as he always did, he felt a strange sensation in his stomach at the way TJ said his name. He never quite pronounced the long ‘y’, almost skipping over it so it sounded more like ‘C _a_ rus’. He couldn’t work out exactly why it affected him so, although Jonah had helped him work through the weird feelings he was experiencing.

* * *

 

“It’s okay if you like him, Cyrus,” Jonah had said kindly. “It’s not wrong, or anything.”

“What?” Cyrus had said, shaking his head. “I know it isn’t wrong, that’s not my problem.”

“Then what is?”

“I just… don’t want to like him,” Cyrus said, desperation creeping into his voice. Jonah looked bemused.

“Why?”

“I don’t…” Cyrus’ words caught in his throat and he swallowed hard. “I don’t want to get hurt again.”

“Because of Connor?” Jonah said quietly, and for a second, Cyrus froze at the mention of his name, before nodding and looking away from Jonah. “It doesn’t have to be like that again.”

“It didn’t have to last time,” Cyrus said bitterly.

“No,” said Jonah, “but you’re not nineteen anymore. And this… TJ isn’t either.”

“So you’re basically saying I was young and stupid?” Cyrus said angrily.

“I didn’t say that,” Jonah said patiently.

“Well, I was.” Cyrus threw down his knife and fork crossly. “He lied, and lied, and lied, and I just refused to see it.”

“That’s my point,” Jonah said, pushing his plate away and turning in his chair to face him. “You’re a good person, Cyrus. You care so much about other people. And as much as Connor damaged you, you’re protected by your experiences. You won’t make the same mistake again.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No, I don’t,” Jonah agreed. “But this is the first guy you’ve even liked in, what, nearly five years?”

“Four and a half,” Cyrus muttered.

“Then there must be something different about him, right?”

Cyrus shrugged. “I guess.”

“See how it goes tomorrow,” Jonah smiled. “Then you’ll know better how you feel.”

* * *

 

“Anyway,” TJ was chattering, “they have these crash mats, and harnesses, so it’s impossible to get hurt.” If only TJ knew the irony of this particular statement. “And if you do, well, you can sue them for a million dollars and buy a yacht.”

Cyrus had to laugh at that. “Fair enough. Let’s do it.” An instructor came over to them to secure their harnesses, then TJ started up the wall. Cyrus placed a hand on one of the ledges and exhaled deeply. “I can do this,” he breathed, heard by no one, before lifting a leg to put a foot on one of the bigger ledges. He glanced down to see where he could put his other foot, then looked back up to find a new ledge to grab. This was where it became difficult, as he tried unsuccessfully to heave his (not substantial) weight up to the next ledge.

“You okay down there?” TJ’s voice sounded an awfully long way away, but when Cyrus looked up at him, but he was only about ten feet above him.

“Just discovering I have no core strength,” he called back. “Or upper body strength. Or any kind of strength, actually.” TJ chuckled fondly as he abseiled down the wall a little way. He leaned down and stretched out a hand. Cyrus seized it, and TJ hauled him up to the next ledge.

“Stretch your right hand to that blue one,” he said, pointing towards a large step two feet from Cyrus’ left ear. Cyrus nodded and grabbed it. “Good job,” he said. “Put your left foot on the green one.”

“It’s too small,” Cyrus said anxiously.

“It’s not, I promise. Put your foot flat against the wall.” Cyrus stuck out his tongue to aid his concentration, before turning his foot parallel to the wall and planting it on the little green step. “Fantastic, Cyrus!” He heard TJ’s voice, bursting with pride and elation, and Cyrus felt TJ let go of his hand. He hooked his hands into the ledges he was holding, rested his weight on his left foot and lifted the other to the orange step. He let out a shaky laugh in response to TJ’s excited cheer, and took another step upwards.

“I did it!” Cyrus cried, exhilaration rushing through his veins. “I actually did it!”

“Yeah, you did!” TJ called back enthusiastically. “Want to go higher?” Cyrus nodded, and together they kept scaling the wall, pausing every few steps so Cyrus could get his bearings. As he grew more confident, Cyrus started to speed up. “Take it easy,” TJ warned. “Don’t try and run before you can walk.”

“I won’t,” Cyrus said dismissively.

 

A few minutes later, he reached an area where the gaps between the ledges became much wider.

“Over there,” TJ said, pointing. “It’ll be easier.”

“I’m okay,” said Cyrus, and TJ looked concerned, but shrugged, before glancing down at the instructors. Cyrus stretched up to a small orange step, but his fingers stopped a few inches short of it. _Guess I’ll have to jump for it,_ he thought. He had seen a couple of other climbers doing the same thing. _Besides, TJ said the harness would protect me._

“Wait, don’t jump,” he heard TJ say urgently, but he ignored him. He took a deep breath, bowed his knees slightly and launched himself upwards. He felt the step under his fingers, and closed his fingers to secure his hold. He slipped, and felt a lurch in his stomach as he started to fall. He barely had time to acknowledge what had happened before he jolted to a stop and felt himself _thud_ gently against the wall. He heard a groan of exertion from somewhere near him, and opened his eyes to see TJ clinging desperately to the wall with one hand, with the other hand holding Cyrus’ harness with all his might.

“Grab the wall,” he gasped through gritted teeth, and Cyrus hastily did so, and no small amount of alarm. When he was secure, TJ let go, breathing hard.

“I thought you said I couldn’t fall,” said Cyrus.

“I did,” TJ said. “But your instructor was saying that the mechanism was jammed, and wouldn’t have worked.”

“Oh,” said Cyrus, with a sinking feeling.

“That’s why I said not to jump,” TJ continued, his lip curled. “You probably wouldn’t have even noticed that anything was wrong until she’d fixed it.”

“Sorry,” said Cyrus, heat rising in his cheeks in his embarrassment. “I’m… going to head down now.” TJ nodded, not quite meeting his eyes. Cyrus waited a moment, then TJ spoke.

“You don’t know how to get down, do you?” Cyrus shook his head. The corner of TJ’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t quite smile. “Feet flat against the wall, hands around your rope.” Cyrus copied him. “Then, just let a bit of the rope out of your hands at a time and walk backwards,” he said, showing him how. Cyrus started his descent, mirroring his movements, and before too long his feet were back on solid ground. “Do you want to leave?” TJ asked once they had removed their helmets and harnesses. Cyrus made a lame attempt to flatten his hair, which was sticking up a little from the helmet’s static.

“I think so,” said Cyrus. “Would… you like to grab some lunch?” TJ shrugged and nodded. They started walking towards the exit. “I’m sorry,” he said as they walked.

“It’s okay,” said TJ quietly.

“It isn’t really,” Cyrus admitted. “I made a stupid mistake which could have had much more severe consequences.”

“True,” said TJ. “I’m just glad it wasn’t any worse.”

“I’m glad you were here,” said Cyrus. “Or it would have been.” TJ slowed a little, looking at Cyrus in surprise.

“I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said you like having me around.” A smile creased at the corner of his mouth.

“I’m sure that isn’t true,” Cyrus said, but he suddenly wasn’t sure.

“Do you mean it?” TJ asked, tilting his head very slightly and looking straight at Cyrus, who noticed for the first time how green his eyes were. He nodded. “Because I like you a lot, Cyrus.”

“I know,” Cyrus said, his voice smaller than usual.

“And I think… God, this is going to sound sappy.” Cyrus’ heart was hammering in his chest. “I feel like we have a connection; I felt it from the first time we spoke.” Cyrus was suddenly very aware of each car passing them, and sweat was starting to bead at his hairline and in his palms. He surreptitiously wiped them on his pants, and perhaps TJ noticed, because he started reaching for Cyrus’ hand. “I’d really like to date you, Cyrus.” Cyrus felt TJ’s fingers on his own, and for a fraction of a second he made to hold TJ’s hand, but suddenly he pulled away.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. He could feel himself starting to panic. “I can’t. I _won’t._ ” TJ looked stricken, which made Cyrus feel even worse. “It isn’t you,” he said, stepping away. “I just… can’t do this. I’m sorry.” He took one more step, choking out one final apology as he turned away and almost ran to his car. He fumbled with his keys, and nearly stalled the car as he drove off.

 

He didn’t get further than a few blocks before he had to pull over. His chest was rising in sharp, shallow breaths. _Breathe_ , the voice in his head urged him. _Look around you; find five things you can see._ He got out of the car and spun around. The street was familiar. He could see a pizza joint up the road. A missing manhole cover. A shabby-looking antiques shop. A yellow Volkswagen. Andi and Amber’s apartment. With a shaky breath, this final observation hit home, and he stumbled towards the door and jammed his thumb onto the buzzer. He heard Andi’s voice over the intercom; thank God, she was home.

“Hello, who is it?” her cheery voice crackled through the speaker grille.

“Andi,” he gasped.

“Cyrus?” She sounded concerned. “Hang on.” A buzz sounded; Cyrus pushed open the door and forced his legs to climb the single flight of stairs to their apartment, clutching the handrail to keep himself upright. The room was spinning, and his head felt light. He knocked wearily on their door; immediately it opened, and Andi stood there, her face etched with worry. “What’s going on?” Cyrus fell into her arms, and then knew no more.

 

The room was bright. Too bright, if he was honest. His head was throbbing, but in one place in particular, at the back, about two inches above his left ear. He let out a groan, and felt something cold touch the painful area. “Sshhh…” someone soothed. “It’s alright, take it easy.” His eyes flickered open reluctantly. Amber was standing over him, holding a bag of ice to his head. Andi appeared in his field of vision, holding a glass of water. “Shit,” he muttered. “What happened?”

“That’s what we were going to ask you, actually,” Amber said, glancing over at Andi.

“You passed out,” said Andi. “I couldn’t carry you, so I was trying to lower you to the floor until Amber got back.” Guilt flashed across her radiant features. “I dropped you. Sorry.” Cyrus sat up slowly, and Andi passed him the water. “Are you alright? What happened to you?”

“So I went to that climbing place,” he said, and Andi’s eyes widened.

“Oh, God. Did you fall?” She immediately started frantically checking him over for a concussion.

“Leave him,” Amber said, taking her arm. “He’s clearly not hurt – he drove here.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“TJ told me he liked me,” Cyrus said, deciding to cut to the chase. “I… I guess I freaked out.”

“I’ll say,” said Amber, sitting down next to him.

“What did you say to him?” Andi asked.

“I turned him down,” he said sadly. “I wanted to say ‘yes’, I really did – but I just… couldn’t.”

“Why not?” asked Amber, narrowing her eyes in curiosity. Cyrus shifted uncomfortably and sipped his water. He liked Amber, but didn’t really fancy telling her all his troubles.

“Could you give us a minute, honey?” Andi asked quietly. Amber shrugged and went into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. “Are you okay?”

“No,” said Cyrus miserably. “As he was asking me out, all I could think about was Connor.” Andi perched on the arm of the couch and wrapped an arm around him, resting a cheek on the top of his head. “It’s like he’s in my head,” Cyrus went on, his voice cracking. “He’s _always_ there. You’d think, after five years, he’d have stopped controlling my life. And to be honest, it was getting better.” His voice was sharp and derisive. “But then I started feeling… _things_ for TJ, and all the shit came flooding back again.”

“I’m sorry,” Andi said softly. “I can’t imagine what it must have been like.”

“And now TJ’s in my head too,” Cyrus sighed. “And it’s like he and Connor are fighting over who gets to ruin my life, or whatever.”

“Is TJ ruining your life?” Andi asked, sitting upright and slipping her hand into his own.

“Not really,” he sighed. “It’s just… I don’t know. When I said I wouldn’t fall in love again, it was partly belief, and partly choice. Now, I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Do you want to stay here tonight?” Cyrus shook his head and winced as the bump on his head smarted. “Well, I’ll take you home, at least. I don’t think you should drive for the rest of the day. You can pick up the car tomorrow.” Cyrus smiled gratefully at her. She leaned down to kiss the top of his head. “Love you, Cyrus.”

“Love you too.”

 

Two days later, Cyrus found himself back at work. He briefly wished the secretary a good morning, before walking the long way round the school to avoid passing the guidance counsellor’s office. He knew it was a cowardly move, but frankly, he didn’t much care. As usual, Milo was already there, perched on a beanbag in the corner of the room, reading.

“Good morning, Milo,” he said, unclipping his briefcase and removing his laptop and a couple of thin binders.

“Hi, Mr Goodman.”

“Did you have a good weekend?”

“Not really,” the boy said gloomily. _Mood_ , thought Cyrus, who was looking for his glasses.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said sympathetically. “How come?”

“I had to go to the dentist.”

“Ah,” said Cyrus knowledgably, locating his glasses exactly where they should have been – that is, on his face. “Not been flossing?”

“He said my teeth were perfect,” Milo said sadly.

“Then what was the problem?” Cyrus was puzzled.

“He didn’t need to use the special buzzy machine that makes my teeth taste nice.” He looked so comically downhearted that Cyrus had to restrain from laughing.

“You mean the one that cleans your teeth..?” Cyrus said, and Milo nodded. “You know it tastes the same as when you actually brush your teeth, right?”

“It’s not the same,” he grumbled, returning his attention to his book. Cyrus shook his head in disbelief. Kids were a riot.

 

Cyrus squirrelled himself away in his classroom that day, distracting himself from the thought of TJ with grading spelling tests and art collages. He didn’t bother eating his lunch, but did venture out to the teachers’ lounge to fetch himself a coffee. To his relief, he didn’t see TJ. Nor did he appear at the end of the day. On his way out, Cyrus chanced a quick peek into his office. TJ was working on his laptop, too absorbed by his task to noticed Cyrus at the door. Cyrus felt a pang of sadness; he had grown accustomed to their daily debriefs. Had he ruined everything?

The following day, Cyrus still didn’t run into him, although spending most of the lunch break outside supervising the children left little time to socialise. Every so often, he popped into the teachers’ lounge to refresh his thermos, but there was still no sign of TJ. Once again he spent the end of the day alone.

On Wednesday, they passed in the corridor, and TJ offered him an amiable (if slightly reserved) smile, which Cyrus reciprocated. However, despite Cyrus’ hopes that this meant that things were back to normal, still no one arrived at his classroom door to discuss the day’s antics and to put the world to rights.

On Thursday afternoon, TJ came to the classroom during Cyrus’ science lesson, asking to speak to two of the students. He was perfectly professional, making no more eye contact than was required, nor showing any sign that anything had happened between them. He returned with the two boys a half hour later, and parted without a word. Against all the evidence, Cyrus stayed a little longer at the end of the day to see if TJ would come and tell him about what had happened, but the doorway stayed woefully empty.

On Friday, Cyrus didn’t even bother waiting. As soon as the last child had left for the day, he set the classroom up for Monday’s lessons, gathered up his things and left the building, resolving to finish what remained of his paperwork at home, so he could talk to Jonah as he did it. If he cried in the car for a minute before starting the engine and departing, well, no one saw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's the thing.
> 
> This was going to be a chapter of almost completely pure fluff, but things got out of hand. It isn't my fault. Complaints can be taken up in the comments section.
> 
> Seriously though, hope you liked the chapter. We're nearing the end now :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, thanks for reading!
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed this - I thrive on validation so if you liked this, then please leave a comment with thoughts, ideas or predictions!
> 
> Alternatively, hit me up on Tumblr (@tea-for-one-please), I'm nice :)


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